


out from the well of destiny

by kyluxtrashcompactor, Pandalolli



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alpha Kylo Ren, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Celtic Hux, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Disfigurement, Don't Underestimate Hux, First time?, Illustrated Fic, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Armitage Hux, Period Typical Violence, Slavery (Cultural), Viking Era AU, Viking Kylo, Viking Mythology - Freeform, elements of magic, includes artwork, subtle ABO
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2018-11-30 03:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11455029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyluxtrashcompactor/pseuds/kyluxtrashcompactor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandalolli/pseuds/Pandalolli
Summary: Kylo Ren is the son of an arlessa, one day to be a ruler in his own right. He hungers to make his own name, to find his own glory across the seas, and leads his people to the wild island of Éire with its emerald shores. There he finds a treasure greater than gold- a man for whom he would betray his heritage in a bid to make his own fate alongside the one he loves.-sorry for the slow updates, yes we are still working on this!--11/23/18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A note on the title: In Norse philosophy, the power of free will and fate interact, and give birth to reality. Yggdrasil, the sacred tree of life, is said to grow from the Well of Urd (destiny), a "reservoir of completed or ongoing actions that nourish the tree and influence growth."

 

                                                                                                                         

 

Hux glanced over his shoulder.

Again.

_And again._

Ever since those soldiers...no. Not soldiers. _What were they??_ Ever since those _savage beasts_ had shown up one early morning not even a year past, Hux had found it difficult to focus on his chores around his family's little farm. And more besides, he had one less arm to do them with, since the heathens had taken the left one.

Hux sighed, and glanced over his shoulder with his one storm-grey eye once more, before kneeling down and tilling more half rotten produce out of the damp soil. His shoulder ached, a blister already beginning to form on the inside of his thumb from the wooden handle of his trowel.

He was drawn back to the memory of that day that he’d lost his other arm. _Where had those beasts come from?_ Hux had never seen the likes of them before. Tall, and built wide and strong, all of them. With paint and blood smeared across their screaming, rabid faces. Hux shuddered, and not just from the damp air. He had fought them off once...somehow. He could do it again.

Hux swore under his breath as his he turned up more rocks from the cursed ground; this place would be the death of him, and his mother. A sodden wind seemed to mock him for the thought, tossing his long, fire-red hair across his face; he spat it from his mouth and shoved it back over his shoulder with his dirt-stained hand.

Suddenly, Hux paused, trowel inches from the dirt and hair fluttering into his face once more.

The skin on the back of Hux’s neck prickled, and he looked over his shoulder again. The silence was preternatural.

Several crows lifted from the tree-tops and scattered on the wind, cawing angrily, and the sound made Hux’s chest tighten with apprehension. Perhaps it was just a prowling wolf that had startled them. God knew that Hux was quick to imagine devils where there were none, these days: banshees on the wind, Sluagh on the hunt for his soul.

The chill, foggy day made it hard to see far into the treeline, but Hux could see the shadows moving in unnatural ways, the spaces between the trees shifting from dark to light. What sunlight did percolate through the forest canopy picked out hints of metal, and as Hux squinted, trying to piece these disjointed images together, a flock of starlings burst from the trees like a black cloud.

As though heralded by the west-winging swarm, the forest disgorged not wolves, but predators walking upright with leather skin and steel claws. These were the creatures that haunted his nightmares above all others: men, capable of more evil than any beast.

Hux lurched to his feet, spilling the few cabbages he'd managed to salvage across the uneven earth. He snatched at his crude shovel, but out here on open ground against so many well-armed men, he stood no chance. He turned and sprinted towards his modest home, shouting, hoping his mother was already inside. They might be able to defend themselves from within their home; Hux had reinforced its walls, doors and windows, after he'd survived his wounds from the first raid. Defending their little house was all the hope they had, the meager legacy left to him by his father, who had long ago absconded. Perhaps the only clever thing Brendol had ever done.

Hux’s breath left him in a rush of relief as he slammed the door open to find his mother at home, standing between Hux and their small hearth; she’d heard Hux’s frantic shouting, no doubt, and had armed herself with their one iron cooking skillet and their solitary skinning  knife. Seeing her so arrayed for battle in her thin woolen shift, Hux suddenly realized it would have have been far better had she been far away in the western fields, gathering flowers for her potions and brews. At least then, one of them would get out of this alive.

"How many...?" she demanded to know, the set of her chin stern and her tone fierce.

"Twelve," Hux stated flatly, feeling the words settle between them like a death knell.

It was twice what had shown up the first time. Trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut, Hux shoved the wooden slat down across the door; it was little more than a stay against the violent winds that often swept the fields, and would do nothing to hold back these men. The shovel he still clutched in his palm was woefully inadequate as well, too dull and unweildly, but he vowed that he would not go down easily.

Pressing his back to the door, as though his sparse weight could keep these marauders at bay, Hux waited as the pounding of his heart counted down the interminable, last seconds of his bleak, arduous life.

Beyond the farm, Kylo Ren picked his way through the forest at the head of the raiding party that he'd led from camp that morning. All day they had scouted the terrain with its deceptive, soggy ground and gnarled, treacherous undergrowth, and had found naught else but an abandoned farmstead infested with rats.

This was not what he'd had in mind when he’d sailed from the motherland; he'd dreamt of the glories of battle as he'd seen in the previous years' raids on the north of this accursed island. He'd envisioned gold, silver, and the chance to wet his blade and prove himself the warrior that he knew himself to be.

Just before noon, he'd seen the curl of smoke drifting above the treetops in the distance, and he'd changed course, anticipating perhaps one of this land's ubiquitous religious centers, always rife for plunder. Thus when he cleared the treeline and found simply a single farm house and one narrow man with his hands in the soil, he cursed. Then he freed his sword and advanced without a word, sensing his companions do likewise without protest. Whatever this man had, Kylo Ren would take it.

Kylo grimaced in disdain as he watched the peasant farmer drop his produce and bolt for the safety of his house, slamming the door behind him. It was typical, that the first thought of these soft men was to flee; Kylo would have taken up arms to defend his land, even against twelve opponents. He would have spilled his blood on the ground he worked.

He approached the house cautiously, peering at the westward for any hint of ranged weaponry, which might be the one thing these islanders could claim as a skill of warfare. Creeping cautiously toward the house, Kylo came to a pause beside a wood pile, assessing the situation as his men gathered about him. He considered the real prize here, scanning the fields with vibrant green grass and the recently tilled dark loam. This was farming country, rich land good for yield, and this is what his mother, the Arlessa, wanted above all else. The house, and its occupants, didn't matter.

Sensing no threat from this solitary dwelling that cowered here on the land that Kylo Ren would soon own, he unfolded from his crouch and flicked a hand at Thorka, who hovered quietly by his side.

Kylo nodded toward the house. “Burn it.”

Kylo watched with indifference as the wooden skeleton of the house caught fire, the flames licking up the bones of the turf structure to catch at the thatch roof. Peals of dark, acrid smoke billowed into the gray air and pooled like a halo around the house; the inhabitants within would be long dead from exsanguination long before they burned. In the end, however, all would be ash beneath Kylo’s boots, and this land would be his.

He began a lazy stroll around the dying home, mesmerized by the destructive force of the flame that crawled across its surface, a creature come to life as it hissed and spat. Beneath that music, Kylo imagined he heard the sound of desperate voices, high with terror and wracked with coughing, and yet Kylo felt no compassion. This was the way of life; the strong took and the weak surrendered.

Kylo’s dispassionate stance did not falter as the door of the home was suddenly thrust open violently. The red-headed peasant Kylo had seen in the fields moments before stumbled out, tugging an older woman by the arm. Both were coughing, pale skin marred by black soot, and they made it only far enough from the house to escape the torrent of smoke before Kylo’s men blocked their escape, weapons drawn.

A smattering of laughter joined Kylo’s own when the red-headed man, who was as thin as the woman he tried to conceal behind him, swung his pitiful excuse for a weapon in a broad arc before him.

Kylo watched with miffed amusement as Varik narrowly ducked a wild swipe with the squat shovel. The peasant crowded the woman behind him at first, his one eye sparking and fierce as he faced down three of Kylo’s twelve men. Kylo assumed the woman was his mother, and he felt a pang of strange pride in the man, ready to die for his kin if not for his land. That, Kylo thought, was noble and worthy of respect.

His second in command, Oron, had sauntered up, fist over his nose to ward against the smoke, sword held lazily at his side, clearly deeming the peasant man to be no threat. He leered at his prey, and made a snide comment about the woman being too loose in her old age for a good fuck, earning a pinched, confused glare from the pale farmer. Oron tried to feint around him, reached out to grab the woman as the farmer swung at him with the shovel again. He ducked it, laughing, as Kylo advanced on the scene.

“Enough,” Kylo said, speaking to his raider, who glanced at him with mouth lax in confusion.

The distraction Kylo offered was an opportunity the farmer took immediate advantage of. He slammed the side of his shovel into Oron’s jaw as soon as the man’s head was turned. His storm-silver eye was crazed by the adrenaline of being forced to fight for his life and defend the only things in it. Baring his teeth in a snarl, he swung his shovel again and again.

The swings were wild, not much technique to them, but it was soon apparent that the main goal of this uncoordinated dance had been to keep the attention of Kylo and his men and to allow his mother to flee. The smoke helped obscure her flight, and her thin legs carried her surprisingly quickly. She vanished to the south along a foot-worn path. A village lay in that direction, Kylo guessed, storing that information for the near future.

He was wrenched back to the moment at hand when the red-haired farmer shouted something in the sing-song language of this land. Kylo understood only a smattering of the words, hearing the word _leave_ , which he’d heard often enough. He couldn’t help but note that nowhere in the man’s impassioned speech did the word _please_ come into play, which was the word that Kylo knew best from the lips of the broken and the dying.

Amused, and more than a little impressed, Kylo signaled to Oron, flicked his hand at the Irishman. “Cleanly,” he ordered, as the man had inspired Kylo’s begrudging respect; he’d earned a warrior’s death.

Kylo saw the man’s gaze snap to him, saw both fear and determination clouding his pale face, and as Oron took another menacing step forward, something _shifted_. The air seemed to collapse inward, and Kylo’s hand flew to his throat as though to keep the breath from being sucked from his lungs. The gray light of mid-day wavered and grew darker, like the sun was being drained from the sky.

Only steps away from his prey, Oron doubled over, spittle leaking from his lips as he dry-heaved, eyes bulging. In Kylo’s peripheral vision, two more of his men suffered a similar malaise, and apprehension boiled in Kylo’s gut as he finally managed to draw in a breath. Instantly, he coughed; the air was rapidly becoming untenable, filled with acrid smoke and the cloying scent of peat.

Was there more to this man than it appeared? He'd seen war; that much was clear, with one arm and one eye, neither healed cleanly. As Kylo’s own eyes bore into him, the man swallowed, and drew Kylo’s gaze to his throat.

Kylo turned his head and spat, his mouth watering suddenly, the smoke-laden air no doubt to blame. Then he took two loping strides forward, reaching out for the lackluster shovel still in the man’s white-knuckled grip, intending to yank it from his grasp.

To his credit, the Celt had no intention of backing down, and he took one last, wild swing at Kylo. It was a miscalculated gesture, however, and Kylo easily caught the man’s narrow wrist in one large hand, jerking him forward even as the other man tried to pull away. The flames licking the house were at the height of intensity, smoke roiling off it in waves, and Kylo could feel the heat on his face. He caught his struggling victim by the throat with his free hand and crowded him back toward his burning home.

The closer they came to the fire, the more bravado bled away from the creature in his grasp. Fingernails dug at Kylo’s hand with the little purchase they could manage, his one wide eye reflecting the flickering orange of the fire. Despite the violent fate that Kylo pushed him toward, something other than fear seemed to roll off the Celt. Kylo would have called it a scent, if he could smell anything other than smoke and burning turf; whatever it was, it staggered him. Inexplicably, Kylo was suddenly overcome with a sense of panic, a need to protect this man, and without hesitation he jerked the Celt flush to him and spun him away from the fire, shielding him with his body just as part of the structure collapsed in on itself, sending sparks hurtling outward.

Kylo cursed as he felt hot ash sear his neck, and he shoved the Celt stumbling away, to be caught in Oron’s tree-trunk embrace. Kylo moved away from the fire, keeping his eyes on the strange creature slumped in Oron’s arms. The Celt’s face was smudged with soot and dirt, which made his bright eye stand out even more.

“Restrain him,” Kylo told Oron, seeing no recognition of their language on the Celt’s face. “There is nothing of value here, so I will take him.” Kylo took the man’s chin in one hand, squeezing. He leaned forward and said with a sneer into the man’s face, “He will serve me.”  

Hux sat on a hillock overlooking the burned out husk of the home that had been the fulcrum of his life for as long as he could remember. He tried to picture happier times, but recollections of himself as a child were disjointed and punctuated by memories of his father’s drunken rages.

He turned his gaze to the south where the tiny village of Kern lay, and hoped his mother had not only found her way there safely, but had warned the other inhabitants. Surely the smoke scarring the horizon would have been portent enough for what was to come should they not flee.

Hux’s wrist chafed where it was bound with a coil of rough rope behind his back; the rope was wound uncomfortably tight around his emaciated waist as well, and it gave Hux at least a small bit of satisfaction that his captors had to summon their collective creativity to bind him.

He stretched his legs out gingerly before him, trying to flex his toes to urge feeling back into his feet; they too were hobbled, though Hux assumed the barbarians would give him enough freedom to walk once they were ready to be on their way. It appeared that they had no horses to speak of, and Hux doubted he would be shouldered like a sack of grain.

Hux tracked the movements of the small band as they trudged up the hill from the direction of Kern, and he was pleased to see that they wore expressions that transcended language barriers. They were angry, frustrated, and carried no spoils— not that there were any to be had in this godforsaken land.

_What did they want with him?_

Hux picked out the warrior who wore the clear mantle of power, the man who’d held Hux’s life in his hands and, for some reason, had spared him. His hair was the rich dark of a raven’s wing, bound in complicated knots and braids that stirred in the pungent, smoke-stained breeze. Even from this distance, Hux could almost smell him, like something feral and deadly.

Hux shivered— not with cold, but with adrenaline draining from his system to leave behind a latent shock. What was to become of him now? Were these men cannibals? Would he be sold off into slavery? Hux had a hard time believing that could be the case; he assumed he wouldn't be able to fetch a high price, disfigured as he was. He couldn't even farm cabbage correctly; never mind that he only had the one arm, for he managed well enough in other respects— farming was not his calling, and never had been.

As though sensing Hux’s scrutiny, the leader of this band of barbarians looked away from speaking with his men and caught Hux’s gaze. They stared one another down, and Hux saw the other man’s mouth twitch, though to smile or grimace, Hux didn’t know. Instead, a few more words were exchanged between the raiders, and the black-haired devil was then stalking toward Hux, strides long and purposeful.

Hux looked up at him as he approached, finding his height intimidating from this angle; upright, Hux was only a few inches from equal standing, but far less broad. No longer suffocating in smoke and panic, Hux could pick out details he’d missed at first; the armor that fit snugly across his captor’s broad chest was well worn, interwoven with small steel bands. Leather bound his arms from elbow to wrist as well, darker in some places than others, and Hux imagined the blood this man had spilled, the countless dead he’d left in his wake.

That image in his mind, Hux flinched when the other man drew a blade from the sheath at his side. _This was it, then. These raiders had taken a moment for rational discussion and judged Hux to be unfit as even a slave, and would now put him out of his misery._

Instead, his captor dropped into a crouch, grabbed the rope binding Hux’s ankles, and sliced it cleanly through. The man regarded him for a moment, then gestured toward the landscape in the direction of Kern, speaking something in his guttural language that Hux had no hope of deciphering. When Hux did not respond, the beast dropped one hand on Hux’s ankle, tugging, and pointed again. There was an unkind grin on his face, a dark mirth sparkling in his eyes.

Hux understood then. His legs had been freed, while his arm was still bound behind his back. He was being given the chance to run, to serve as a source of amusement for these heathens as he flopped about on the ground like a dying fish in an effort to rise. And what, if Hux even managed to make it to his  feet in this manner, would he be running to? Was there anything left of the village? The raiders had returned empty handed, wearing wan expressions, but that did not preclude having slaughtered the inhabitants in their disappointment. It was miles to the next town, and Hux’s belly was empty, his muscles slack with exhaustion.

There was nothing for him here. Perhaps there never had been.

Hux turned his gaze back to his captor, studying his cold facade; the man was actually much younger than Hux had first guessed, though the scar slashed across his right eye and the hard pinch of his face told him that he’d seen just as much strife and loneliness as Hux had in his own twenty-four years. 

Hux lifted his chin, scowling. “Let’s get on with it, then,” he said, grateful that his voice didn’t tremble. He sensed not only his captor’s eyes upon him, but those of the rest of the men. He felt his fate hanging by a thread, a pendulum swinging before his eyes.

And then he was being tugged roughly to his feet by bruising fingers. Hux swayed at the sudden change in orientation, and a hand between his shoulder blades steadied him; their eyes were almost level with one another now.

To Hux’s complete astonishment, his captor spoke in broken Gaelic. “You. Too brave to die.” A smirk curled on his wide lips. “Yet.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

The forest canopy, with its gnarled, interlocking branches nearly dripping with lichen, blotting out the sky in shades of dark green, created its own type of perpetual twilight. The knotted limbs, if seen from the corner of one’s eye, just so, seemed possessed of some sinister life, as though they were reaching out to grasp the unwary traveler who didn’t look over his shoulder often enough. 

Kylo was not such a man. 

He snapped his head around, sure that something had moved to his right, and yet this accursed wood did not appear to even harbor the typical arboreal creatures; he’d seen naught but ravens, and whether they were the same two, Kylo couldn’t say. They were always just paces behind, perched in one tree or the other. Huginn and Muninn, perhaps, watching and listening, so that they might report their observations to Odin. 

Kylo met the eyes, or so he thought, of the larger of the two. It spread its wings and craned its neck, feathers inflating, and it issued a raspy, ill-tempered caw that made Kylo blink. So intent was he on the potential meaning of this message from his god that he caught his foot beneath a root and stumbled. 

He caught himself quickly, instinct at being startled causing him to wrap his hand around the pommel of his sword, squeezing as though it were a lifeline. 

A soft huff of laughter immediately followed from the prisoner to his left, and Kylo flashed him a dark, warning glare. The Celt went silent, but even in the gloom, Kylo could see that one green eye sparkling with mirth.  _ Perhaps he should cut that one out as well. _

The pattering of rain on the leaves above them had been nigh on the only sound for hours, superimposed over the whisper of metal against leather and Thorki’s wet, heavy breathing— he’d caught the sickness that lurked in this lowland swamp, the one that infested the lungs and made men burn with fever.  

Kylo was not the only one keeping an eye on the prisoner. Oron kept a guarded pace behind the Celt, and Kylo could see the tension in his comrade’s shoulders, the way he seemed poised to pounce. It was, perhaps, an overabundance of caution for a man with but one arm, and that one bound behind his back. 

Being hobbled thusly did not preclude a sense of grace in the svelte creature, Kylo couldn’t help but notice. The Celt kept pace with his soldiers, stepping lithely over sprawling, treacherous roots, keeping sure footing in the mossy loam, and seeming every bit at home in this land as Kylo was alien to it.

They traveled northwest as the shadows began to leech even the hint of green from their surroundings, leaving behind only smudges of gray and brown; the rapidly falling temperature coaxed mist from the earth until their path, such as it was, gradually disintegrated. When Kylo could no longer see his feet treading upon the ground, he called a stop to their mired progress.   

The men were none too pleased at Kylo’s choice to set up camp within the boundaries of this haunted forest, but they kept their grumbling under breath-- out of courtesy for their leader, or mistrust in this strange wood, Kylo didn’t know. 

“You,” Kylo spoke to his prisoner, who stood with eyes alert and back facing a tree slick with moss. “What can you do?” 

The man squinted at him, red hair straggling across his face and clinging to his pale eyelashes. He seemed not to understand, and Kylo frowned. 

“Work. You can cook? Make fire?” Kylo smirked and raised both eyebrows. “Play the lute and sing for us?” 

The Celt’s eye slanted and his lips curled into a sneer that would freeze the blood of a lesser man, and he craned his neck forward, cleared his throat, and spat at Kylo’s feet. Kylo only grinned, showing him his teeth, pleased with himself for conveying his message. His mother kept Irish and English slaves alike, and Kylo had a flair for languages.

Kylo took a step toward the prisoner, who shrank away even as he lifted his chin and set his jaw. Kylo couldn’t help an appreciative chuckle, which earned him a dark scowl. “Be still,” Kylo barked, gesturing at the bonds trapping the other man’s arm behind his back. 

The Celt didn’t move as Kylo approached him, cautiously like a man moves closer to a wild animal, but Kylo could see the tremor in his muscles; whether it was the urge to flee or fight, or simply exhaustion, Kylo could not tell. He’d half a thought to leave his prisoner bound, to rope him inelegantly to a tree, to pass the night upright, but something about the way the Celt bore his circumstances inspired Kylo to offer some token of respect, man to man. If there could be such a thing between a slave and his captor.

Kylo circled the Celt, only appraising him for the moment, amused at the glare that followed him; the man was too thin, ill-made woolen pants barely clinging to boney hips, arm narrow and lacking the wiry definition of a warrior. And yet he held himself with pride, radiating challenge and something more, something primal that made the fine hairs on Kylo’s arms stand up. From the whispers Kylo heard about camp as the men started a fire and brought water from a nearby stream, it seemed he was not alone in this feeling. The words “witch” and “cursed” were uttered more than once. 

The Celt flinched when Kylo finally tucked his fingers beneath the rope binding his arm, but he remained still as Kylo deftly began to unknot his binding and wind it slowly from around the man’s torso. It became apparent as Kylo removed the rope that Oron had bound the Celt much more tightly than had probably been necessary; the pale skin of his arm was rubbed raw, wrist chafed deeply enough that there was potential for scarring. That thought filled Kylo with a curious sense of regret.

“What is your name?” he asked the Celt, dropping the rope to the ground as he shifted to once again look the man in the face. When there was no response beyond a downward twitch of the prisoner’s lips, Kylo tried another approach. 

He touched his hand to his own chest, palm over his heart. “Kylo.” Carefully, so as not to spook him, Kylo held his hand out and touched the other man in the same manner. He could feel the Celt’s heart racing, could almost feel the hot flow of blood in his veins, and it made his mouth water, like a wolf sensing prey just within reach. 

They stared at one another for a long moment, until Kylo began to think his grasp on the Gaelic tongue was not so sophisticated as he’d hoped. Then the Celt reached up and closed thin fingers around Kylo’s wrist, grip much surer than Kylo expected, and pushed his hand away. 

“Hux,” the man replied, gesturing toward himself. 

“Hux,” Kylo repeated, drawing the s-sound out in a hiss, grinning. The name sounded deadly, like the word for a viper poised to strike. 

Kylo unclipped his aleskin from his belt and offered it. When Hux did not take it at first, merely glared at him with evident distrust, Kylo rolled his eyes and took a healthy swallow. He tried not to wince; the horsepiss they took from the locals held no candle to the fine brews of home. 

He offered the skin a second time, and Hux took it. The Celt seemed to have no distaste for the drink; he took a long swallow and wiped his mouth with his wrist. Hux did not offer to return the skin at once, either, keeping it clutched closely to his chest, regarding Kylo with a hint of challenge in his gaze. 

Kylo gnawed at the inside of his lip to keep a smile from spreading-- he did not think it was wise for this slave to know that he was earning his master’s appreciation with his every act of defiance. 

Giving the aleskin a pointed look, Kylo forewent holding his hand out for it, sending Hux the message that he would be allowed to keep it, for now, by Kylo’s good grace. Waving vaguely at the trees surrounding the campsite, Kylo said, “Rest.” He stepped closer, accenting their small height difference. “But run at your own risk.” 

Then he stooped to gather the discarded length of rope, and wound it into a coil as he moved to assist with camp. 

Hux watched Kylo walk away, adrenaline slowly washing from his system and leaving him lightheaded. He had fully expected something more sinister than being untied and given ale--to perhaps be the main course on a spit. Not that he’d be much in the way of nutrition. 

He gladly took another swig from the aleskin he’d confiscated, surprised that these beasts roamed the forest with malt liquor that tasted like it had been aged in a blacksmith’s boot. Far be it for Hux to refuse even that, however, starved and parched as he was; it did, at least, give his twisting stomach something to calm it for the moment. 

Other than the occasional furtive glance from his captors, Hux did not seem to be afforded much of a guard; there was no doubt some sort of unspoken consensus that he was not a threat, either as a warrior or an escape prospect. He did briefly entertain the idea of absconding, but the memory of the charred husk that was now his home held little appeal, and represented freedom no more at this moment than it had when he’d woken in his own bed this morning. It was a relief, almost, to have been taken from his failing farmstead, denied the choice to struggle on in a lifestyle that didn’t suit him. Now that it seemed his captors did not plan, yet, to torture him or use him for target practice, what would have seemed a tragedy in some men’s eyes actually felt to be shaping up into a potentially grand adventure.

Resigning himself to see this prisoner thing through for the moment, Hux found a tree apart enough from camp that he would not be underfoot, and lowered himself to the ground. The forest floor was damp, layers upon layers of rotting leaves and dirt; ragged mist scattered as he stretched his legs out before him, and then seeped back in to fill the space Hux had carved out. 

Hux found himself watching Kylo; the man moved like a predator, both strong and graceful, and he was mesmerizing to watch, as one might observe an impending storm brewing on the horizon, full of potential threat, and yet beautiful. The barbarian was clearly intelligent; he spoke one more language than did Hux, and he spoke it well. There was cunning in those amber eyes, undeniably, and something searching, as though when he looked at Hux he wanted answers for questions that had not been asked. 

Hux sipped at the liquor, careful not to overindulge, lest he fashion himself a loose tongue and muddled wits. He had no idea what such men as these kept slaves for, especially those who most would see as needing more accommodation than they were worth. Hux briefly entertained the idea that perhaps these warriors took both men and women as sexual partners, but then another glance at Kylo made Hux’s cheeks flush. Were such inclinations to exist, Hux could not imagine himself to be desirable-- not with the puckered scar on his face and without two arms to hold a lover. Unwisely, Hux took another long draught from the aleskin. He’d had no prospects in his village even when he was more approachable. 

Kylo vanished for perhaps half an hour, and was gone long enough that the rest of his men began to allow themselves lingering, distrusting looks in Hux’s direction. Hux caught one of them, at one point, lifting a small charm dangling from a necklace to touch it to his lips. The atmosphere felt heavy, and Hux found himself shivering-- the sun was all but gone, and the fire struggled to hold back the darkness as his captors laboriously peeled and split damp wood to coax it higher. Thunder cracked overhead, and a gust of wind beyond the canopy rattled the leaves, showering the campsite with run-off from the storm. Hux’s hair stuck to his neck and cheeks, and his sense of alarm grew with each passing moment until, as suddenly as he’d disappeared, Kylo returned.

He carried over his shoulder the gutted carcass of a small doe, his hands bloody to the elbows, and Hux had the extremely disconcerting thought that he looked  _ good _ like that. Even as Hux considered it, Kylo glanced at him, as though this was something that Kylo wished him to notice. Hux looked away, quickly, drawing his knees up and hugging them to his chest, even though he felt the temperature finally begin to rise. 

Hux concentrated on the forest beyond the pool of light, unable to understand any of the words of the men tending to the fire and to the beast Kylo had killed. Their tones had graduated to light banter and raucous laughter, clearly eased by the presence of their leader. Even the mist creeping across the ground began to thin, and the drumming of rain on the leaves above abated, or was drowned out by the sounds of camp. 

Hux heard the footfalls approaching him, and knew it was Kylo before he turned his head. Involuntarily, Hux’s fingers clenched around the aleskin, holding tight to the one thing that he had the momentary illusion of possessing. 

Kylo knelt beside him, eyes raking across Hux’s form and bottom lip sucked in between his teeth, inspecting Hux as one might inspect a fortress one intended to conquer. Hux shrank back against the tree when Kylo reached out with one hand to touch his face, and Kylo paused, mid gesture. He waited, and the tension gradually bled from Hux’s shoulders. 

Sensing this, Kylo tentatively brought his blood-stained fingers to the ridge of Hux’s left cheek, tracing the orbit of his ruined eye. His touch was gentle, making Hux’s skin prickle with gooseflesh, and not unpleasantly so. 

“How was this done?” Kylo asked. 

“With a dull knife,” Hux answered, tonelessly. 

Kylo’s fingers left Hux’s skin briefly, hovering just scant inches away, and a crease formed between his brows; it was a disapproving expression. When he touched Hux again, it was thoughtful, thumb outlining the scar, trailing softly over Hux’s eyebrow. “Who?” he asked, after a moment. 

Hux, emboldened by drink, dropped the aleskin on the ground and gestured sharply toward the fire, where meat was now turning on a spit, fat sizzling in the blaze. 

“Men like these,” he spat. He caught Kylo’s wrist, pushed it away, instantly and damnably missing his touch. “Men like you,” he added, the words much deflated. 

Kylo’s lips twisted, but he did not appear offended. Instead, he looked down, and Hux followed his gaze only to realize he still held Kylo’s wrist. He released it, and Kylo just as quickly caught Hux’s hand. He drew Hux’s arm straight, thumb brushing the smarting welts made by the rope, and then with his other hand felt along the shape of Hux’s forearm, kneading the muscles all the way to Hux’s bicep. 

“Were you a warrior before?” Kylo asked, and Hux has the suspicion then that his touch had been seeking musculature indicative of such a previous life. 

“A healer,” Hux admitted. 

Kylo blinked. “ _ Völva?”  _ he asked, and Hux squinted, not understanding. Kylo smiled, eyes sparkling, and leaned in closer enough to whisper almost against Hux’s ear. “Witch.” 

Hux snatched his arm away, nearly struck Kylo across the face. “I am not a  _ witch _ .” 

Kylo leaned back, regarding him with evident humor. “Perhaps you should be. My people revere the  _ völur. _ _ ”  _

Hux was unsure if this advice was sound, or simply a hypothetical shovel with which to dig himself a hole. Then the aroma of cooking meat drifted to his nostrils, and his stomach growled. 

Hux tried on this offered persona. “Will you feed me, then? Or let me starve?” 

Kylo did not answer at first, simply staring thoughtfully at Hux, eyes narrowed, and for a moment Hux thought he had overstepped. Nerves wound, he jumped when from above a jolting, hoarse  _ caw _ broke the relative stillness of the forest with the sound of claws scrabbling on bark, leaves jostling. Hux looked up in time to catch a fine shower of leafy detritus to his face; he squeezed his eyes shut against it, and felt something soft brush his nose.

He wiped the dust from his eye and opened it, peering at Kylo in the dim light; his face looked pensive, forehead creased, as though he were trying to discern some sound only barely audible from a great distance. Hux began to inquire whether there was cause for concern—bandits abroad in the woods, wolves, the souls of victims come to claim them—but Kylo’s eyes found Hux’s and the words died on his tongue.

Kylo held up between them a long, black feather. 

“It seems Odin has made that choice for me,” he said quietly, voice full of curiosity. 

Hux did not understand, but had no time to inquire; Kylo stood, tucking the feather in some out of the way place upon his person, and then he reached down and caught Hux’s elbow to haul him to his feet.

“Come then,” he said, turning away and moving toward the fire. After two steps, he looked over his shoulder. “Witch.” 

Hux was fed well; in fact, he’d had to force himself not to eat too much, lest he make himself sick on the rich venison. He’d felt singularly apart during the meal, as the men, Kylo included, had spoken in their own language, though he’d been tethered by the way that Kylo kept glancing at him. 

The feast—though primitive it might have been, was nevertheless grand to Hux—had begun to wind down, and Kylo’s men were stretching about in the circle of the fire, unrolling woolen blankets and draping themselves head to foot. 

He was contemplating sleeping in the cold when he felt Kylo nudge him with his foot; his captor was looming over him where he sat cross-legged beside the fire, sucking grease from his fingers. 

Hux suddenly saw the rope once again in Kylo’s hands, and he stiffened, leaning dangerously back toward the fire when Kylo crouched beside him. 

“Do you wish to run?” he asked, and Hux couldn’t tell what the tenor of the question implied. There was something more behind it than inquiry for the sake of planning. 

“If I did, would I tell you?” Hux asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Kylo smiled, tossed the rope away, and then settled on the ground next to him. Without preamble, he stretched out on his side, gesturing to Hux to take the space between him and the fire. 

Hux swallowed, briefly considering his options, which amounted to next to none. He wasn’t familiar with this stretch of the forest, especially at night, with branches obscuring the stars. The possibility of sneaking away from a mob of seasoned warriors was as slim as finding his way home unaided.  

Seeing little other choice, Hux laid down on his side, facing away from Kylo, but feeling his presence all along his spine as intensely as if they’d been touching. He lay that way for a long time, tension making his muscles ache, the crackle of the fire gradually overtaking the sound of whispered voices. His cheeks were warm from the flames, and he began to feel drowsy, almost sated. Complacent. 

The thought jolted him back into awareness, and he twisted around to look over his shoulder. 

Kylo was awake, watching him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you folks reading this know what Vikings did, and it wasn't very romantic. There's no graphic violence in this chapter, but the content is true to the times.

 

 

Hux remained curled by the dying fire throughout the night, listening to the soft sounds of snoring intermingling with the crackling logs, branches soughing in the wind, and the occasional curious call of an owl. Several times, Hux thought he saw the shape of the ravens that had followed them all day, mere patches of black upon black in the shadows above, but if they were there, they were silent.

When the fire was little more than glowing orange embers, Hux began to feel the wet chill of the forest seep into his bones, reaching up from the damp loam and down from the canopy above. Hux was already closer to the fire than was probably wise; were he to fall asleep again, which seemed unlikely given the circumstances, it would be to find himself burned on top of all the other woes he was currently shouldering.

That thought prompted Hux to crane his neck once again to look at Kylo, who appeared to be sleeping, thin blanket pulled up to his chest and dark braids trailing across his shoulder. Hux had kept a sharp eye on him at regular intervals, startling awake almost the second he himself drifted off, unable to shake the worry that his captors had been waiting for him to sleep before visiting evil upon him.

Kylo stirred then, rolling over onto his back, his blanket catching beneath his left hip to be mostly tugged off. He lay that way for a moment as Hux waited to see if he would wake, but then began snoring softly.

Slowly, Hux levered himself into a seated position, scanning the camp for any spare stock of wood that he could add to the fire, since these barbarians hadn’t bothered to allow him a blanket. No one stirred, and it would almost have seemed peaceful if not for the undercurrent of potential violence that shrouded these men—like a deceptively calm sea in the early spring, apt to change at any moment.

Pulling his feet in, Hux started to stand, fingers splayed on the ground for balance. Before he managed to even shift his weight to both calves, a hand snatched his wrist, locking around it with a bruising grip. It startled Hux so badly that he fell back, managing to stay upright only by digging his fingers into the cold earth.

“You sneak as well as a herd of cattle,” Kylo said, voice husky with sleep.

Hux glared, trying to jerk his arm away, but Kylo kept a firm hold on him. “I’m not sneaking, you belligerent oaf,” he hissed. “I’m cold, and you lot have let the fire burn down.”

Kylo blinked at him, then smiled, the expression almost sinister on his fire-limned face, the pale skin of his scar catching the light in a disturbing way. “Ah, gathering firewood” he said, giving Hux’s wrist a squeeze. “So there is a use for a one-armed slave after all.”

Hux’s face burned, and if he could have at that moment, he’d have slapped Kylo. Kylo seemed to glean that desire, and find it amusing, because his smile broadened and he let go of Hux. They watched each other from across an expanse of charged space, until Kylo tossed his blanket to the side and rose to his feet in one fluid motion.

He looked down at Hux, a hard glance that told Hux in no uncertain terms that he was not to move, and then Kylo picked his way through camp, soft boots and sure step utterly silent, like he was no more than mist creeping across the earth.

Hux watched him slip into the murky darkness at the edge of the encampment, and felt a sudden flutter of adrenaline that urged him to bolt, that _now_ was his chance. The watchful eyes that had hindered him all day were turned elsewhere, preoccupied with, Hux assumed, finding firewood. He scanned the camp, eyes raking over the sleeping forms of Kylo’s men, adrenaline surging in his blood.

Then he saw the man that had bound him earlier, lying on his side, both blue eyes watching him and reflecting the dying firelight.

Hux deflated, sighing, and crossed his legs beneath him, picking up a stick and poking the embers with it. They shifted in the ash, dark coals spiderwebbed with deep red-orange. _Was this what his life would be like now_? Dragged about by these marauders like the town fool, biding his time slogging through the countryside on whatever sordid business his captors were up to that day and waiting for them to grow weary of Hux slowing them down and sharing their food? He hoped in the end that they would at least give him a clean death, quick, when he ceased to amuse.

Hux tossed the stick into the fire and rubbed his eye with one filthy hand; the smoke stung, and he was exhausted. He guessed that he might have gotten an hour of fitful sleep after a long day of having his life destroyed and marching merrily through the woods with a band of Godless brigands.

A shadow flickered over him a second before an armful of thick, broken branches hit the ground beside him, and Hux flinched, badly startled. He’d not heard even the faintest whisper of movement as Kylo approached.

Kylo looked down his nose at Hux, then gestured toward the firewood. Without a word, Kylo stepped around him and settled on the ground again, stretching out on his side and propping himself up on one elbow.

Hux stared at him, then had to turn his face quickly away to hide a smile at the inane concept of this heathen warrior fetching his slave firewood, sharing his ale-skin, feeding him well on rich venison that was a far cry better than any meal Hux had managed in months.

If his penance was to build fire, he could do that.

Shifting to his knees, Hux began sorting the broken branches and small logs into the pit of embers, careful to arrange them just so, flicking his hair back over his shoulder with one hand before leaning forward to coax the embers into flame with a breath of air. They caught easily, quickly; Hux had always had a knack for starting fires, as though he and the element were somehow kin and understood one another.

He sat back to admire his work when he felt something brush through his hair, and he whirled to find Kylo sitting upright behind him, hand poised in the air. His eyes searched Hux’s, glimmering dark in the low light, and Hux saw an element of caution in the set of his face that was much overlaid by mischief. His lips quirked at whatever expression had settled on Hux’s face, which must have been some mix of wariness and surprise.

Hux was still looking over his shoulder at Kylo, and when no admonishment was forthcoming, Kylo lifted his hand again and touched a lock of Hux’s long red hair. He drew his fingers along it, then let it feather back to Hux’s shoulder in the firelight.

“Pretty,” Kylo said.

Hux snorted, having to bite his lip against the half-mad laughter bubbling in his chest. Kylo was watching him with round eyes, seemingly unsure what to make of Hux’s outburst.

“You think…” Hux began shrilly, then lowered his voice. “You think me pretty?”

Kylo raised both eyebrows. “You do not agree?”

Hux’s jaw dropped, then he closed it quickly. “How could I?” he asked, gesturing at his face.

Kylo’s brow furrowed, evidently not understanding Hux, so Hux touched his fingers to the puckered scar where his eye had been.

Now Kylo’s expression fell, turning dark. “You believe scars make one repulsive?” he growled, voice pitched low, and Hux knew he’d made a wrong turn, eyes flicking to the long scar that nearly bisected Kylo’s handsome face.

“To some, where I come from,” Hux admitted, swiveling on his knees to face Kylo. Hux lifted his hand toward Kylo’s face, and Kylo flinched back, brows pinched over his nose. Hux merely tilted his head, an admonishing look that said _you can touch me, but I can’t touch you_ ?

Kylo stilled, remained frozen as Hux traced the long, white line that ran from Kylo’s eyebrow, across his cheek, tapering off near his neck. It must have been a grievous wound. “How did this happen?” he asked.

Kylo did not respond for a moment, and Hux’s attention was drawn away from tracing the scar with feather-light fingertips to see that Kylo’s eyes had almost drifted shut, his lips glistening wet in the firelight where they were just barely parted.

As though sensing Hux’s gaze, Kylo’s attention focused on him again. Hux was again struck by how young his captor looked; beyond the fearsome slash across his features, Kylo’s skin was smooth, unlined, and soft with youth. He grew no hair on his face like the other men of his party, and Hux saw no stubble where a beard had been shaved.

Hux realized then that he had been regarding Kylo for a long second, two fingers still poised over his cheek. Kylo’s eyes were openly curious, and he only reacted when Hux drew his hand away and tucked it into his lap, clenching his teeth against his own stupid indiscretion. Who knew what these men thought of proclivities such as his, and whether Kylo had simply been fascinated by his red hair and nothing else.

Kylo sat up straighter, and only then did Hux realize he’d been leaning forward, closer to Hux. With a motion of his hand that Hux barely registered, Kylo slipped a dagger from a sheath on his thigh and brandished it between them. Hux’s breath caught in his throat, but Kylo’s posture was not threatening. Hux had seen violence on this man’s face, and no such flame lit him now.

Kylo raised the dagger to his own face, turning it so that the sharpened edge aligned with his scar, and he traced the path with what Hux realized was memory. Had Kylo looked at himself often in the reflection of water as Hux had, seeing himself distorted and hideous on the shifting surface? Or perhaps Kylo’s mirrors were polished silver, plundered from kings.

“I became arrogant, and the gods saw fit to punish me,” he said. “To remind me that power and strength comes in all forms.”

The answer was cryptic, but the way Kylo looked at him made Hux feel exposed, as though Kylo saw some secret thing about him that Hux was not even fully aware of. Hux shifted, cleared his throat.

Kylo smirked, replacing the dagger in its sheath. He reached over and grasped the blanket he’d shucked off earlier and stretched out once more on the forest floor, gesturing at the significantly reduced space between himself and the fire.

“Will you sleep now?” he asked. “Or should I fetch you a pillow?”

Hux scowled. “Could you? I’d like that.”

This made Kylo laugh, and he tucked his face into the crook of his arm to muffle the sound. Even so, someone grunted in their sleep, and from the corner of his eye Hux saw one of the men lift his head, roll over, and jerk the blanket over his face.

Hux glanced once more at Kylo, who was now peering up at him with one dark eye, the other hidden by his wild hair. The fire turned his skin bronze, picked out the dark whorls of a tattoo snaking up his neck. He was, Hux decided at that moment, rather beautiful.

Swallowing, Hux turned his back on the man who had made him a slave and curled next to the fire. It burned brightly now, smoke and the occasional flicker of sparks spiraling up into the dark forest canopy. Hux lay awake for a long while, watching, feeling as though he were waiting for something but unsure what. A revelation, perhaps, as to what in God’s name he’d gotten himself into.

 

He woke with a start. The fire was once again embers and ash, the air chilled and dewy with mist. It clung to Hux’s skin in a thin, damp film, and he shivered, reaching up to rub his sleep-crusted eye. Only then did he feel the weight of the blanket over him, and his fingers grazed it curiously. Turning his head, he found Kylo gone, an imprint of drier, crushed leaves and earth marking where he’d slept next to Hux.

Hux sat up slowly, letting the blanket puddle in his lap. He ached from sleeping rigidly, subconsciously too wary to move as though he were a prey animal hiding in thicket. Around him, Kylo’s men were awake, gathering their supplies and preparing for, Hux imagined with a resigned groan, yet more adventurous walking.

Using his foot to hold the end of the blanket flat, Hux folded it and rolled it neatly with one hand, then he uncoiled from the ground and dusted leaves and other detritus from his ragged clothes. His trousers barely fit him now, held up by a woven drawstring that chafed his hips, and as he cinched the knot tighter, he desperately hoped that he would not be bound today as he had been yesterday.

He gathered the blanket from the ground and kicked dirt and ash over the dying fire, then glanced around for any other inspiration in the way of being useful. He was scanning the plant growth for anything familiar when he felt something tug his hair gently, startling him. Whirling about, he found Kylo behind him with a grin that could only be described as _pleased with himself_.

“Why do you keep bothering my hair?” Hux snapped, raking it over his shoulder and tucking it under the collar of his shirt.

“Because I like it,” Kylo said simply, then leaned in closer, his lips almost on Hux’s ear, breath warm as he spoke. “And because you belong to me.”

Hux’s brows shot down and he took a step away from Kylo, but before he could object, inaccurately as it were, Kylo pressed something into his palm and stalked away. Hux stared after him, and then finally looked down to find a withered apple in his hand.

 

Kylo had not missed the curious looks cast by his men when he failed to bind his prisoner, and Kylo suspected that their caution was less because they were wary of Hux’s potential physical prowess, and more because Hux exuded something enigmatic and subtly dangerous that permeated the very air around him. He was like an exotic, wild beast that a man would be wise not to provoke, Kylo thought, which made it all the more entertaining to rattle his cage.

Kylo kept pace behind him most of the morning, enjoying the way Hux kept looking over his shoulder to see Kylo’s eyes on him; the Celt never looked fearful, Kylo noted—only annoyed.

When they were not keeping an eye on one another, Hux would pause from time to time along their path and stoop to pluck leaves or flowers from the undergrowth and pocket them. One cluster of yellow flowers he kept in his hand and chewed as they walked, and Kylo began to imagine the creature might have his uses after all. If he didn’t poison them first.

Early afternoon found them finally emerging from the tangled forest, the wan sun a welcome warmth; the murky half-twilight beneath the tree canopy felt as though it had sunk into Kylo’s very bones.

They all paused for a space of several minutes in the abutting field, rubbing warmth into their skin. Only Hux stood motionless, several paces up a steeply sloping hill covered in brilliant green clover and tiny white flowers. He was facing north, his chin tilted up, and Kylo followed his gaze.

Against the pale blue sky was the faintest curl of smoke, the breeze having thinned it almost to the point of being indistinguishable. At a flick of Kylo’s hand, his men were once again at attention, weapons drawn.

Kylo moved up the slope, passing Hux as he went; Hux remained pinned to the hillside, and Kylo could not bother to direct him now. Reaching the crest of the hill, he saw the source of the smoke, just as he’d hoped.

It was a small monastery, little more than a cluster of one room buildings made of weathered, dark wood and crumbling stone, with a crude cross hung over one door. There was a large pen to one side with several sheep and a chicken coop; the smell of churned earth and dung wafted across the field, laced with the pungent aroma of peat.

The small structure sat beside a hearty stream, shadowed by a massive willow tree. A cassocked man with a shaved pate stooped in the garden, tugging weeds from neat rows of healthy greens. As though Kylo cast a shadow across the whole length of the field to steal his sunlight, the man glanced up, shading his eyes as he looked to the south. The monk straightened abruptly, like he’d caught a dagger in the back, and his hand flew to his mouth. He turned, rushing toward the building and shouting with his mouse-brown robe fluttering behind him.

Kylo snorted and drew his sword, then moved across the field without a word. His men followed.  

The work was done quickly; Kylo might, in another situation, have spared the men and taken what belonged to them, but his warriors would not abide such mercy for the weak heathens with their soft bellies and limpid eyes. And so the wooden floor of the church was bathed in the blood of the six hapless monks who occupied it, and the men took a loot of two candlesticks made of brass, a tiny box of tin coins, and the only fine thing in the monastery—an embroidered silk cloth adorning a table beneath the Christian’s book of tall tales. It was a meager haul, all told, and damnable luck; this entire excursion had been nigh on fruitless, with the exception of a one-eyed, one-armed slave with a sharp tongue.

The thought of Hux brought a pang of realization that Kylo had left him unattended while he slaughtered Hux's countrymen, and he turned abruptly to look for him.

Not only had Hux not fled when he could have taken the opportunity, but he hovered in the doorway, framed by the light from behind in such a way that his face was lost in shadow and his hair limned in a red-gold halo. For a moment, he looked like one of the Christian angels, a warrior sent by their God to avenge this travesty. But then Hux stepped across the threshold and became, once more, just a man.

“Was this really necessary?” Hux asked, his pale gaze dispassionate. “For candlesticks?” He glanced at the table to his right, where their pitiful treasure had been heaped. He looked to Kylo again. “Are your people so destitute?”

Kylo let out the breath he’d been holding, feeling his chest burn. Was his slave chastising him? “My people are warriors, the sons and daughters of Odin.”

Hux’s bright eye took in the fallen monks, to a man possessing no weapons and no defenses. “Odin must be so proud,” he drawled, nudging the shoulder of one sad corpse with his toe.

Kylo’s temper flared, and he stepped through a spreading pool of viscous blood and clamped a hand around Hux’s jaw, bringing his face close. “Watch your tongue, slave,” he hissed.

Hux glared back at him, unflinching, but Kylo felt Hux's pulse jump beneath his thumb. Hux might be foolish to provoke him, but he was unerringly brave, and it stirred something primal in Kylo’s blood. Something that said he should _possess_ Hux, that Hux should belong to him utterly. He thought then of the feather that had drifted down from the tree the night before, tucked how in a pocket of his vest—a message from the gods, whose meaning Kylo was unsure he yet understood.

Unnerved by this wash of confused feeling, Kylo let him go, ungently pushing Hux’s face away. He stalked past him, colliding with Hux’s shoulder hard enough to make the Celt stumble sideways.

 

Kylo was sitting cross-legged on the grass in front of the main building, cleaning his sword with an oiled rag, when Hux emerged perhaps fifteen minutes later. It took Kylo a second glance before he realized what Hux carried, and his bubbling anger with his recalcitrant slave diminished abruptly in place of genuine amusement.

Clutched in Hux’s hand were a pair of supple leather shoes, their laces hanging open and an unmistakable blood stain on one toe. Draped over his arm was a blanket, and balanced in the crook of his elbow was a small, earthenware jug of the sort in which these monks often stored their sacramental wine.

Hux met his eyes as he crossed the lawn, chin tilted up defiantly, and Kylo turned away to hide his smile. He continued to wipe down his sword reverently as he saw Hux settle beside him out of the corner of his eye.

“So my slave believes he can take his own spoils?” Kylo asked, attempting to sound angry and failing.

“Mmm.” Hux didn’t offer any more of an explanation, and Kylo turned to see him laying out a clean shirt that had been hidden beneath the blanket. It was simple, but well made, and a far cry better than the rag that currently clung to his narrow shoulders.

Briefly, Kylo did entertain the idea of taking these things away from him, just to see what Hux would do, but then Hux brought the left sleeve of the tunic to his mouth and tore at the fabric with his teeth. Kylo was so startled by the behavior that it took him a moment to realize what Hux was doing, and compassion warred with the desire to allow Hux his pride.

“Here,” Kylo muttered, trying to tug the shirt away from Hux to cut the sleeve for him with his hunting knife, but Hux jerked it out of his reach and leveled a challenging gaze at him. Kylo sighed, turned the knife over in his hand, and held it out to Hux hilt-first.

Hux’s eyes went round for a moment, and Kylo recognized the incredulity; what master would give his slave a weapon, and in such proximity? And yet, Hux gingerly taking the blade from him was acknowledgement of an unspoken truth, and they both knew it: even armed, Hux had no chance of besting Kylo, and Kylo had no fear of him.

Hux made short work of the sleeve as Kylo stayed busy with his own blade, and then he watched Hux surreptitiously set the dagger on his opposite side, out of Kylo’s immediate sight. Letting his sword rest in his lap, Kylo shifted sideways, reached around Hux’s narrow frame, and snatched the knife back.

“Nice try,” he said, replacing it in its sheath.

Hux’s only response was a quirk of his lips, and then he unfolded himself from the ground, shirt draped over his shoulder and bottle in his hand. He nodded toward the stream. “I have not bathed in weeks. Do you trust me not to float away?”

 

Kylo didn’t have time to answer before Hux was walking away across the lawn, sipping from the bottle of wine. Kylo’s men were busy with their own work—cleaning blades, preparing their evening meal of roast mutton—but several of them watched Hux saunter toward the stream with just as much bewilderment as Kylo. And to a man, they all glanced at Kylo as though to measure his complacency.

Kylo sighed, and pushed himself to his feet to trail after his disobedient captive.

 

 

Despite his bravado, Hux felt foolish. He could have easily fled while Kylo and his horrible minions were slaughtering monks for candlesticks, and yet he’d remained transfixed by it, as though some invisible chain bound him to the dark-eyed heathen warrior.

Hux had taken a chance with claiming his own loot from the massacre, but the truth was that his feet hurt from marching endlessly in threadbare shoes, his shirt smelled like the smoke that had consumed his family home, and he didn’t intend to spend another night freezing on a forest floor. The wine...well. It was wine.

He set these things next to the stream, assessing the body of water. It was perhaps fifteen feet across where it snaked past the willow tree, and the surface was dark and glassy at the center—deep enough for a decent soak, Hux guessed.

It had, actually, been much longer than a few weeks since he’d bathed, and that fact had nagged him the night before with Kylo curled so close to him. Hux felt self-conscious of the dirt beneath his nails, the soot clinging to him like a second skin, and his filthy hair that Kylo seemed so inclined to touch. He felt a bone deep compulsion to be clean, not to smell revolting next to that beast, and he couldn’t explain it.

Hux tucked the fingers of his right hand beneath his soiled tunic and tugged it off, letting it crumple at his feet. A tug of deft fingers had the drawstring of his trousers untied, and he hesitated for only a moment before he let them slip from his slender hips—these men lived together and fought together, and Hux had little doubt they had seen one another nude, and thought little of it.

There was, predictably, no audible reaction; nevertheless, Hux refused to turn around as he waded into the stream.  It was cold, and he hissed as the water lapped around his calves. Wading deeper, he found the bottom to be fine silt, soft against his feet, and it was, indeed, deep enough in the center for him to submerge to his chest when settling on his knees.

He bobbed there for a moment, waiting for his muscles to stop quivering from the chill as he ran a hand over his chest lazily, sloughing off grime. Once he’d acclimated, he slowly turned on his knees and looked back toward the monastery.

His breath caught when he saw Kylo standing on the bank, watching him with what Hux slowly realized was a manner of interest that transcended a man simply keeping an eye on his property. Even as he thought it, Hux saw Kylo’s eyes drift down, taking in his narrow shoulders and thin chest.

“You look as if you’ve never seen someone bathe before,” Hux said, bringing Kylo’s attention back to his face. Hux took in the dark blood stains dried across Kylo’s hands and forearms, the smear of red on his chin, the small twig snarled in his tangled hair. Hux smirked. “Perhaps you haven’t.”

Hux wasn’t sure what reaction he expected, but it was not for Kylo to grasp the hem of his own shirt and tug it over his head. Nor to unlace his boots and kick them aside before he dropped his own trousers with seemingly no modesty.

Hux found himself stunned into silence as Kylo waded out into the water toward him, finding himself unable to be discreet about taking in Kylo’s broad, scar-crossed chest, the flat belly and thatch of thick, dark hair between his legs.

Kylo dipped into the water near the center of the stream, several feet from Hux, obscuring certain things from view that Hux very much did not need to contemplate as thoroughly as he was inspired to.

Kylo seemed bothered neither by their state of undress, nor by the chilly water. “You seem to enjoy challenging me,” he said, pausing in the water perhaps a foot distant from Hux.

“And you seem to enjoy acquiescing,” Hux retorted with a smile. When Kylo frowned at that word, not seeming to understand it, Hux added, “Giving in.”

Kylo’s lips quirked down, and he drifted closer before he turned his back on Hux. For a moment, Hux thought this was some petulant gesture because he’d offended Kylo, but then Kylo looked over his shoulder, inclined his neck toward his own back.

“Wash. If you want me to be clean.”

Hux gaped, and Kylo smirked before he looked away, bobbing in the water mere inches from Hux. Briefly, Hux entertained the idea of refusing, but then realized he had no desire to do so.

He reached out and touched his fingers to Kylo’s long hair, gathering the thick mass and pushing it over Kylo’s left shoulder. Then he lifted a hand cupped with water and trickled it over Kylo’s back, which trembled with the chill, stilling as Hux traced a palm over the slope of his shoulder. Kylo’s head was bowed, his breathing surprisingly even given the temperature of the stream, and he relaxed beneath Hux’s fingers as Hux washed away the grime of untold weeks of travel and warfare.

Hux kept to Kylo's upper torso, Kylo letting his arms float out to his sides so that Hux could reach around to his chest. It was an awkward position, bringing Hux’s naked body almost flush with Kylo’s, and thankfully the frigid water kept any evidence of his arousal at bay. And he should _not_ be aroused. This man had burned his home down, taken him away bound like an animal, and slaughtered innocent men for nothing but a handful of dubious riches.

“Duck,” Hux said then, pulling back abruptly.

Kylo looked around, and Hux swallowed when he saw that the warm amber of Kylo’s irises was almost swallowed by fattened pupils. Hux felt color blossom in his cheeks, and he put his hand on Kylo’s head and pushed down.

“Get your hair wet,” he snarled at him.

Kylo obediently submerged in the water and came back up gasping from the shock of cold. He drifted back almost instinctively into Hux’s space, seeking his warmth perhaps, but Hux brought him up short with fingers in his hair.

Kylo let him comb his long mane, tease the twigs and leaves and knots from it. Tight, intricate braids coiled throughout, and Hux ran his fingers over them, curious at the small gold charms that were bound into the designs. He tugged gently at one, careful not to dislodge it, though it didn’t seem an easy task.

“Did you steal this from someone’s corpse?” he asked.

“Yes,” Kylo answered, shifting away and turning to face Hux. “One much richer than you’d make.”

Hux flicked water in his face, and Kylo flinched away with a grin before he reached out and took Hux by the shoulders. Hux immediately went rigid, entirely unsure what was planned for him, but then Kylo was guiding Hux to turn around.

Allowing himself to be turned, Hux couldn’t help a thrill of anticipation at being touched by this man. His eyes drifted closed and he bit his lip against a moan of pleasure when Kylo’s hands closed over his shoulders, so large they almost engulfed his emaciated form.

It took him a moment to realize Kylo was making no effort to cleanse Hux’s skin—he was merely massaging the muscle, thumbs working the tension along Hux’s spine where it had gathered a lifetime ago. Somehow, Kylo’s palms managed to be warm, and Hux was lulled by his touch until Kylo finally abandoned Hux’s body in favor of his hair.

Kylo forced Hux to dip his head under the water in the same manner, and then took his time with Hux’s knotted mane. He was meticulous and gentle, much more so than Hux would have imagined him capable, and his fingernails against Hux’s scalp left him tingling. Neither of them spoke for the duration, the only sounds being water lapping against the shore, the fronds of the willow tree in the breeze, and the distant voices and laughter of Kylo’s men.

At last, Kylo seemed satisfied, combing Hux’s hair back and knotting it with quick fingers. Hux reached up to touch it, and found a narrow braid trailing from his temple down, past his ear. He followed it to the end and drew it forward over his shoulder, trying to see it, but was distracted when Kylo moved closer and pressed his lips to Hux’s ear.

“Pretty,” he whispered, and Hux felt Kylo’s hand come to rest on his left hip. His touch was tentative. A question.

Hux did not flinch away, eyelids fluttering shut as Kylo’s touch became more sure, closing on the outline of Hux’s hip, moving up to cup his narrow waist before sliding across Hux’s flat, soft belly.

Despite the temperature of the water, Hux felt his cock stir, but the sensation had barely begun to form before Kylo’s hand was suddenly, disappointingly gone. Hux heard him sigh, and when he looked over his shoulder, Kylo was floating on his back, looking at him with bright eyes. For one, fearful moment, Hux thought that Kylo had merely been trying to catch Hux out, and now he would face some ungodly fate.

“You make a bad slave,” Kylo told him instead.

Hux laughed, high and anxious. “What would you have me be, then?” he dared ask, turning to face him fully.

Kylo regarded him silently, adrenaline and nervousness making Hux tremble in the cold water. Then Kylo moved toward him again, on his knees once more. He came within a few inches of Hux’s face, and for a brief second, Hux thought he actually meant to kiss him. Kylo’s eyes were even half-lidded, but he stopped before their lips touched. His breath was warm on Hux’s chin when he spoke again.

“I would have you be mine,” he said. “Because you want to be.”

Hux had no clever response to that, and Kylo did not give him time to form one; his captor stood, water dripping from his long limbs, and waded back to shore, leaving Hux shivering in the center of the creek.

 


	4. Chapter 4

_ Water lapped gently upon the rocks of the shoreline, the sand repainted by the push and pull of the tides. Kylo could feel the wind in his hair, could almost taste the sea-spray on his tongue; this land smelled differently than his home, like moss and old earth and decaying things. The water left behind slime-slick, spindly leaves and foam tinted sickly yellow on the tideline, and the rocks were speckled with bird droppings turned chalk white by the sun.  _

_ Kylo was waiting on this shore, and knew that he was dreaming, for this was a place he had never seen with open eyes. As he stood facing out to sea, the vulpine face of a dragon emerged from the fog bank, borne up by a curved, slender neck. Its belly was full of Kylo's kinsman, warriors perched on the curved ribs of the beast with their hungry gazes turned toward land, looking past and through him, but for the man at the helm.  _

_ This man stood at the prow of the ship, one hand curled for balance around the dragon's throat. His red hair was swept back in intricate braids, coiling like serpents over his shoulder where they stirred in the breeze. Kylo would have known him anywhere, be it in a dream or in another life, even with the patch covering his left eye and the black war paint across brow and cheek.  _

_ The ship made landfall with the hiss of shifting sand and the creak of wooden planks, and Hux bounded lithely over the side, splashing down in the ankle-deep water and striding toward Kylo with confident steps. He held Kylo spellbound with one green eye, lips curving into an intimate smirk as he drew close. _

_ Hux paused beside him, and Kylo could smell oiled leather of his armor and he felt the coarse stubble along Hux’s jaw as Hux leaned close to whisper in his ear.  _

_ “Let us take this kingdom for your sons.”  _

 

With a start, Kylo woke, the give of sand beneath his feet becoming the hard planes of a wooden floor at his back. The dream had been so vivid that for a moment he was disoriented, the room tilting like the sway of a ship on the waves and pitch dark. Then he pushed himself upright and felt the blanket clinging to him, and saw the slit high in the stone wall through which a sprinkle of stars shone. 

Kylo blinked in the meager light, arms crawling with gooseflesh as he recalled his vision—for he was sure it was more than a mere dream. It would not be the first time he had seen beyond the veil of the waking world, though whether this dream was a message from the gods, or a possible path in his future, he could not guess. 

He was too shaken to sleep now, so Kylo threw the blanket aside and pushed himself to his feet. The rest of his men were still slumbering, undisturbed, and Kylo picked out Hux’s diminutive shape near the hearth. It must be early morning, just before dawn, for the fire in the hearth of the small abbey was nothing but dimly glowing embers.

Kylo stared at the shape Hux made beneath the blanket he’d claimed the previous afternoon, and felt a smile tug at his lips. Despite the pitiful figure Hux cut, Kylo had no trouble reconciling the man he’d taken from his home with the warrior in his dream. 

Then Kylo remembered Hux’s words, a warm whisper against his ear, and the smile faded from his lips. Hux had spoken of sons, a kingdom conquered, and this was a future Kylo had only dared to imagine for himself. 

He knew sleep would not come again this night, and so Kylo picked his way over the sleeping forms of his men to the door of the abbey’s dormitory, then he slipped outside and perched on a low rock wall to watch the sun rise. 

 

_ Walking _ . 

It seemed Hux was doomed to it now. Endless trekking across green fields, picking his way through gnarled forests, fording streams. As far as he could tell, they were moving steadily northeast, though their destination was not clear. Kylo’s men talked amongst themselves, but in their own guttural language, and the closest any of them got to trying to communicate with Hux was to cast him a wary glare from time to time, as though to assure themselves that he hadn’t sprouted horns. 

The band was cresting its umpteenth hill now, and Hux saw Kylo pause on the slope and look back to Hux, who had been given the odious duty of safely transporting a portion of the spoils these barbarians had taken from the hapless monks: a string of three, lackadaisical sheep. 

Hux glared at Kylo as he made his way up the slope, bringing up the rear of this sad procession, sheep lashed to the rope he clutched in his hand. Kylo smirked, having no trouble, it seemed, at reading Hux’s profound discontent. Hux opened his mouth to make a smart comment when the rope in his hand pulled taut, and he almost stumbled backward down the hill. Turning around, he found the lead sheep had stopped, once again, to tear out a mouthful of grass from beside their trail. 

Hux sighed, tugging on the rope. “Come on, you great sodding beast,” he growled. 

The sheep continued to chew, blinking at him with its large, dark eyes.

“You have a way with animals,” Kylo remarked, earning him the same withering gaze that Hux had given the sheep. 

“Perhaps that’s why I get on so well with you lot,” Hux snapped, tugging on the rope again. This time it gave, and the animals trundled along behind him as he made his way down the other side of the hill. Kylo fell into step alongside him. 

They walked in silence for a few moments, though the air between them seemed charged. The ravens that had followed them since the advent of this cursed journey wheeled overhead, black against the vivid blue sky, and Hux found himself thinking of the afternoon before, of the stream and Kylo wading into the water. That image and the memory of Kylo’s hands on his body had kept Hux awake the night before, curled in on himself in an effort to hide his arousal. Even now, it made his cheeks burn to recall the scenarios he’d pictured.

Hux cleared his throat, forcing those images away and giving Kylo a sidelong glance. “Where exactly are we going?” 

“ Veðrafjǫrðr _ , _ ”  Kylo said. “Near the sea.” There was something wistful in Kylo’s tone, like he was recalling a long-lost love.

“And what will we do there?” Hux asked, forcing himself to speak in a level tone. 

“We will rest, feast, plan our next actions.” 

“And what will our next grand adventure be?” Hux smirked at him. “Plundering more candlesticks and sheep?” 

Kylo shot him a dark look, his heavy brows pinching over his prominent nose and his jaw clenching. “Were you less amusing, I would have your tongue,” he growled. “Though perhaps I should cut it out anyway, so I can fetch a higher price for you.” 

Hux ground to an abrupt halt, staring wide-eyed at Kylo, who continued on for several paces before pausing to look back at him. 

“You intend to sell me?” Hux gripped the rope in his hand tightly, as though it might somehow serve as a weapon.

Kylo said nothing for a moment as he raked an appraising gaze over Hux’s figure, head cocked as he chewed on the inside of one cheek. “Perhaps trade you for a few goats.” 

Hux’s mouth fell open. Before he could summon a suitable retort, Kylo flashed him a remarkably white smile and turned away again, following his men. 

 

They walked until mid-day, when Kylo blessedly called a halt on the bank of a small pond overshadowed by a cluster of oaks. The men seemed grateful for the reprieve, sprawling out in the soft grass to eat, producing dried meat and fruit from their packs. 

Watching them served to remind Hux that he existed, currently, by Kylo’s good graces—he had no food and no ability to hunt on this forced march. He found himself yearning for home, for the smell of rabbit stew simmering over the fire and his mother’s herbal tea, the whisper of the pines in the yard and the cooing of the doves that nested in the eaves.

Hux swallowed around a lump in his throat, shrugging the useless memories away. He let the sheep wander away toward the pond, keeping his eye on them as he settled onto a hollow log. He picked at the lichen growing along its moist, half-rotted surface, refusing to ask Kylo for anything. 

Kylo joined Hux on the log a moment later, stretching his long legs out. He held a strip of dried venison between his teeth, and handed Hux a portion as well. “I was only joking,” Kylo said, tearing off a mouthful of the meat and chewing. “About trading you for goats.” 

“Were you?” Hux asked tightly, food doing little to fill the hollow space in his belly. 

“Mmmm.” Kylo nudged Hux’s foot with his own. “I’d at least want a good horse from the deal.” 

Hux looked at him sharply with the strip of jerky halfway to his mouth. Kylo’s eyes were sparkling with devious mirth, and he looked as though he was trying his best not to smile. 

“You have already decided I make a bad slave,” Hux said, the hand holding his meager repast dropping to his lap. “So what will truly happen to me when we reach this...place near the sea?” Hux thought that he sounded mildly petulant, but the question merited an answer, even if he wasn’t in a position to be demanding.

Kylo studied Hux’s face, his amber eyes slanted in thought. “You do not trust me?” he asked, lifting one brow. The set of his lips, quirked up at one corner, led Hux to believe that he did not expect an affirmative answer. 

Hux pursed his lips. “Trust you not to grow bored with half a man, and cast me off in the nearest ditch?” 

The rakish expression fell from Kylo’s face, and if anything, he looked surprised. He lifted a hand toward Hux’s face then, and Hux flinched away, only for Kylo to capture his jaw firmly so that Hux was forced to meet his eyes.

“You are not half a man,” Kylo told him, a curious rasp to his voice. “There is steel in you. I have seen it.” 

There was something intent about Kylo’s words, as though he were speaking of more than just Hux’s erstwhile bravery defending his home. 

Hux’s face felt too warm, and he saw in his peripheral vision more than one of Kylo’s men watching this exchange. He drew back, and Kylo let him go. Glancing at the venison he still clutched in his hand, he found his mouth was too dry to eat. He looked back to Kylo.

“I would make a better warrior than a slave,” Hux said, tilting his chin up and trying to look as though he believed that.

Kylo grinned, startling Hux by reaching over to pinch the skin of his stomach playfully. “Perhaps when you are not so skinny.” 

Hux swatted him away, face even hotter now. “I could have bested your men when you came upon my farmstead, had I possessed any weapons but gardening tools,” he snapped. 

The laughter this drew from Kylo was deep, from the belly—Hux thought it might have been a good sound, had it not been at his expense. “So if I give you a sword now, you will beat me in single combat?” 

“I’ll die trying.” Hux forced himself to take another bite of the dried venison, matching Kylo’s incredulous stare with defiance. 

Kylo shook his head. “I believe you would.” 

Having said that, Kylo pushed himself to his feet, strolling away from Hux; Hux stared after him, mildly affronted, and then confused when he saw Kylo stoop to pick a long branch up from the ground. Hux watched as he stripped the leaves and twigs from its length and then used his foot to snap it in half. 

Sauntering back to Hux, he dropped one of the sticks on the ground. “Let us test your skill then.” 

Hux stared at Kylo. “You must be joking again.” 

Kylo lifted both eyebrows. “Do you prefer real weapons?” 

Hux snorted, shoved the half-eaten jerky in his pocket, and grasped the stick. He stood, hefting its weight; it was crooked through the middle, and the tip was little more than shredded bark, but Kylo’s arboreal weapon was no better. 

“My father did teach me swordplay,” Hux told Kylo, making a wide circle away from the log. 

“Mine taught me to build ships,” Kylo said. “And to strike first.” Kylo moved like lightning, a long step carrying him forward as he slashed his weapon in a wide arc, and had this been a real battle, and if Hux has been just a bit slower, Kylo would have taken his head off.

As it was, Hux ducked, and the branch passed within a hair’s breadth of his skull. At the edge of his focus, Hux heard someone whistle—Kylo’s men were undoubtedly finding this entertaining. 

“You’ve quick reflexes,” Kylo said, circling him once more. 

Hux stayed just at the edge of Kylo’s long reach, studying the way Kylo’s feet moved. When he took another swing at Hux, Kylo favored his right leg, leaning his weight into it. Hux danced out of the way again, and this time as the makeshift weapon passed by, Hux twirled in toward Kylo’s open left before Kylo could bring the stick back to bear. 

With perhaps too much force for a mock fight, Hux jabbed the end of his stick toward Kylo’s exposed torso, only to have Kylo catch his wrist in his free hand and jerk his arm across his chest, which spun Hux around. 

Hux was caught against Kylo’s chest then, Kylo’s thick arm pinning him as his own heart pounded beneath. Kylo held his weapon perpendicular to Hux’s torso now.

“How should I end you?” Kylo asked, and Hux could hear the smirk in his voice. Hux struggled, but Kylo’s grip was too strong; he drew the surface of the stick across Hux’s belly. “Spilling your guts for the crows, letting you bleed out on the field?” He raised the stick, angling it beneath Hux’s chin. “Or slit your throat?”

Hux did the only thing he had the current means to do. He shifted his head to the side, opened his mouth, and bit down, hard, on the soft, exposed flesh in the crook of Kylo’s elbow. 

Kylo yelped, the stick dipping down and away from Hux’s neck. Then Hux drove an elbow into Kylo’s solar plexus, knocking him off balance and allowing Hux to twist out of his grip to the sound of Kylo’s men laughing. 

Hux rounded, facing him, unable to keep a grin from his face. Kylo glowered at him, rubbing the smarting flesh on his inner arm, which was already starting to purple. One of the men called something to Kylo in their own language, and Kylo’s cheeks flushed. 

“Again,” Kylo said vehemently, brandishing the stick with a clear vendetta. 

Hux was winded, mildly dizzy from having eaten little today before this exertion, but he had no intention of losing face, so he hefted his makeshift blade again and prepared for Kylo’s attack. 

Kylo took two shuffling steps toward him, and then his eyes darted suddenly over Hux’s shoulder. The faux blade in his hand hit the ground, replaced in a blur by the real sword that hung at his hip. The steel flashed in the sunlight and for one, gut-wrenching moment, Hux thought he’d pushed his luck too far, that embarrassing Kylo in front of his men had been an unwise choice.

Kylo shouted something in his own language, and Hux heard a chorus of blades singing as they were drawn from scabbards, the hollow sound of wooden shields as they were lifted. 

Hux whirled around, seeing unfamiliar men picking their way through the trees, hidden before now by the earth-tones of their padded coats and the dappled shadows. It took Hux a moment to realize what they must represent—fighting men of a nearby and nameless village, or perhaps some that had tracked them from the abbey that smoldered behind them. 

Hux flinched when he felt Kylo’s hand grasp his shoulder, squeezing tightly and shoving him back. “Hide,” Kylo hissed, filling the space between Hux and their approaching combatants. All semblance of stealth abandoned now, the glade came alive with the war cries and shouting as the men converged on one another.

Several things occurred to Hux in that moment: one, he had no weapon, and despite his bravado, was not a match for an armed man with the intent to slay him. Secondly, these were his countrymen, people born and nourished by this same land who spoke his language and worshipped his gods. They were not the strange, unwelcome heathens from across the sea who slaughtered monks and burned villages for plunder. Hux could take this chance, could throw in his lot with these men, and perhaps get out of this alive.

He looked at the stick still clutched in his hand, thought of the way Kylo had tried to push him back, out of harm’s way. Kylo, who looked at him as a whole man, who treated him with tentative respect, who, Hux thought, might even desire him. Those things alone were more than the people of Hux’s own land had ever offered him. 

Hux dropped the stick and circled around the margin of the skirmish, seeking any opportunity to join the fray. He haunted Kylo’s wake, watching him bring up his shield to meet the heavy blow of an axe, sweeping his shield arm aside to wrench the weapon out of his opponent’s hand and drive his sword through his gut. The man fell, and Kylo followed with a killing thrust to the throat and then whirled to meet a new opponent. 

The axe Kylo had flung aside with his shield lay in the grass mere feet from Hux, and he snuck forward and wrapped his hand around the hilt. He was familiar enough with this sort of tool, despite having never used it against another man. His opportunity presented itself as Kylo engaged a man not much older than Kylo himself—the youth’s nose leaked blood and his eyes were blue and wide with fear. His parrying strokes were frantic, weaker than Kylo’s, but he served as a distraction nonetheless for the man who now stalked Kylo from behind. 

Hux was barely a part of either world, Norseman or Celt— he bore neither shield nor armor, and he seemed to slip through the cracks of perception, crossing the contested ground unnoticed and unmolested. Just as the man at Kylo’s back raised his weapon, Hux swung the axe in his hand with all the force he could muster, straight for the pale line of flesh above the collar; the man crumpled soundlessly, taking Hux’s axe with him to the ground, buried in the back of his neck. 

Hux’s fingers shook, numb from the blow, and Kylo spun to face him as the young man he’d been engaging likewise fell to his death. Blood flecked Kylo’s cheeks, clung to one eyelash, and Hux thought he looked like a vengeful god come to Earth. 

“I told you to hide,” Kylo shouted above the din. 

“And I just saved your life,” Hux snarled. 

For a moment, Hux thought Kylo was going to order him away again, argue with him, but then he grinned, snatched an abandoned sword from the blood-soaked ground, and thrust it into Hux’s hand. 

The fighting was over quickly, after that. By unspoken agreement, Hux stayed near Kylo, and the two of them made short work of two more of Hux’s countrymen before the sounds of the skirmish diminished, fading into labored breathing and the moans of the near-dead. Then those, too, were silenced.

Hux stood shoulder to shoulder with Kylo, his chest heaving with thin breaths, his ears ringing. The air was thick with the smell of iron and human waste, and his chin ached with from a blow he didn’t remember taking. He would be sore tomorrow, but in this moment, Hux had never felt more alive. 

As though sensing this thought, Kylo turned and met Hux’s gaze. Again, he touched Hux’s face, only this time as he smoothed a thumb over Hux’s cheek, it came away red with blood. 

“Too brave to die,” Kylo said softly, repeating the first words he’d ever spoken to Hux, and punctuated this with a fierce grin. Then he sheathed his sword, reached up and unfastened one of the gold decorations in his hair. He pinned it through the braid Hux still wore, then trailed his fingers along the length of it gently, until giving it a playful tug. 

“You make a bad slave,” he said. “But perhaps you will make a better warrior.”

Hux opened his mouth to reply, a thousand questions stirring in his chest, but Kylo turned away to cross back to the small clearing where they’d stopped to rest, hours ago it seemed. Hux stood, watching him go, until Kylo looked over his shoulder.

“Come,” he said. “And bring your sword.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

The weight of the weapon at his side was unfamiliar, the belt too wide so that it sat low on his hips, the tip of the scabbard knocking against his knee as they walked. Hux was fairly certain that if he actually tried to draw the sword, he wouldn’t be able to get it free before the entire belt was around his thighs.

He glanced around at Kylo, thinking that perhaps he should have let the brute help him with securing the weapon--at the very least, allowed him to punch an extra hole through the leather, but Hux had managed to wrench the belt off the corpse on his own, coming away with blood stained hands, and had no intention of requesting assistance to carry the sword he was lucky to have.

And what _had_ Kylo been thinking, allowing his slave to bear a weapon? Was Hux even still a slave? If these heathens had some way of officially releasing a man from his bondage, Hux wasn’t privy to it; perhaps such freedom was earned in their culture, and protecting Kylo in battle had been Hux’s price. Hux had his doubts, though, as he’d caught more than one pair of eyes drifting toward him with a mixture of consternation and disbelief. _That_ , at least, was something Hux and these miserable marauders had in common.

Curiously, despite their evident differences and their overarching language barrier, Hux did not feel entirely out of place, as though they’d all been carved from the same foundation. And there was an even more intense affinity between he and Kylo, a kind of awareness of one another that Hux was quickly recognizing as mutual. Despite the fact that Kylo walked several meters behind him now, Hux felt as though he were in a secure sphere, protected, though if as companion or a prize, he’d yet to determine.

Reaching up, he let his fingers flutter over the gold trinket Kylo had fastened around the braid above his ear. It slid along the twined hair at his touch, and he was suddenly protective of it, fearful that it would fall out, be lost on the trail behind them. It was an odd attachment, as Hux was not entirely sure what it represented, or if Kylo had given it to him out of respect; it was difficult to judge whether he was the brunt of an elaborate, ongoing joke when he knew he was not, in their eyes, the equal of these men.

His anticipation built as the signs of civilization began to appear; the grass they trod over gradually gave way to a beaten dirt path which wound like a dark stream through the greenery. They came upon a road at the crest of a curve running north, more or less in the direction they’d come and southeast; they took the path sloping down toward a river wider than any body of water Hux had ever laid eyes upon. It was the color of silt, flowing with determination in the direction they were traveling, tiny wavelets sparkling in the sun. Hux was marveling at a bizarre, white bird standing in the shallows with a long, sinuous neck when Kylo’s rumbling voice at his side startled him.

“ _Abhainn na Siúire,”_ Kylo said, tilting his chin to indicate the river, rather than the bird which had caught Hux’s attention. “The fish are plentiful, the shores excellent farmland. Wide enough to carry our ships inland from the sea.”

A slow smile spread on Hux’s lips at the evident pleasure in Kylo’s tone. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you a peaceful farmer.”

Kylo smirked, unoffended. “My people are mostly stewards of the land.”

Hux raised an eyebrow. “After you take it from others?”

Kylo grunted, and before he turned his face back toward the path, Hux thought he saw him roll his eyes. “That tongue will cause you trouble, where we are going. You would be wise to take care with it.”

Hux thought Kylo sounded more resigned than angry, but he couldn’t help prodding. “And will you find another use for it?”

This brought Kylo’s face back around, eyes round and open, and to Hux’s surprise, his pale cheeks turned a faint pink. Hux pictured this same man all but pressed against him naked in the cold water, full of sultry confidence, and wondered if he’d misjudged things by taking control of what seemed to be a game of flirtation between the two of them.

“Should I?” Kylo asked, voice low, and Hux heard the unmistakable curiosity in the question. It was Hux’s turn now to feel heat rising in his cheeks; having blindly sought this concession, he now had no idea what to do with it.

No doubt sensing his discomfiture, Kylo only flashed him that wide, white-toothed grin, seeming pleased to once again have the upper hand. Then Hux felt the brush of Kylo’s fingers against his own, calloused pads gentle, the touch just fleeting enough for the intent to register without allowing Hux to react. Then Kylo was loping ahead with his long-legged stride to catch up with several of his men.

 

 

The settlement, when they finally arrived, was unlike the village of Kern that squatted several several miles from Hux’s former home. There was something more raw about this place, something dynamic and newborn and full of burgeoning energy.

Hux was jostled by two children playing tag, streaking across the road with high pitched laughter. A woman carrying two fowl by their spindly legs glanced curiously at him as she passed, and Hux caught her eyes flicking to the gold trinket clipped into his hair; he fought the urge to lay a protective hand over it, as though to assert that it was an accolade he had earned. All about him was a cacophony of sound: the ringing of a hammer on steel, the low of cattle and squawking of chickens, boisterous voices in that guttural language that Hux could not decipher. It was only as their procession slowed outside a building that felt to have some sort of importance, longer than others and more sturdy and with a door carved in intricate designs, did Hux realize that of all the frankly curious gazes that he had garnered, every pair of eyes had slid as easily away from his scars as they had the sword at his side, his red hair, the clothing he wore.

His attention was drawn to the wooden creak of the double doors before them being pushed inward, and Hux caught the warm yellow-orange glimmer of a fire and the familiar scene of peat mixed with freshly cut wood. Several of the men from Kylo’s band had split off from the group while Hux was busy marveling at the village’s inhabitants, and now he was crowded in by the two men remaining at his back.

The first thing Hux’s eyes were drawn to were the high ceilings, the rafters cloaked in shadow where the flickering firelight could not reach. The central feature of the building was a long table that bracketed a rectangular fire-pit, and the placement drew the eye straight down the room to a dais upon which perched two chairs. One was empty, and the other cradled a petite woman whose gaze seemed to command all the men clustered around Hux.

Hux looked about for Kylo, wanting to ask who this woman was, but Kylo was already shuffling forward toward the dais; Hux noted with interest that Kylo’s steps dragged, and his normally proud shoulders were rounded.

Kylo’s demeanor of both deference and, perhaps, shame, prompted Hux to take a better look at the woman. She had an unmistakable aura of authority, and the band of gold that rested on her forehead was woven into her hair with intricate braids, dark and streaked with silver and falling to her waist. Her eyes were dark, set in a pale face, and she looked to be similar in age to Hux’s mother; the thought sent a pang of loneliness and isolation through him, and he was suddenly reminded that despite his burgeoning camaraderie, he was a stranger here.

As though sensing his consideration, the woman’s eyes shifted to meet Hux’s gaze; worry needled his heart, recalling the way Kylo had referred to him as a slave, but then he reminded himself that he had saved the life of one of this woman’s people, and had been trusted with a weapon. And so he stared back, spine straight and chin held high. Rather than appear put-off by Hux’s boldness, the woman raised a curious eyebrow before her gaze turned once again on Kylo, who had come to stand before her.

 

The conversation which followed was frustratingly unclear; Hux understood but a smattering of words, and as Kylo’s men gathered around him in a protective knot, Hux lost the ability to even read Kylo’s body language and expressions. He felt profoundly out of place, and found himself shifting closer to the band of men who had destroyed his home and taken him hostage; even that threadbare sense of belonging was better than none, and less precarious. He even thought he was doing a tolerable job of blending in until the woman gestured to him, and he heard Kylo say the first words that Hux understood in his foreign language: _red_ and _warrior._

He expected to be laughed at them, to see himself dismissed as useless and stripped of his weapon to be hauled out into the stables or the fields or whatever these people did with their slaves, and so he was surprised to find that this woman merely seemed curious. Her only reaction was to nod, and then as quickly as this meeting had begun, it was adjourned.

The hall immediately erupted in chatter and Hux realized that while he was so intent on the conversation before him, the room had begun to fill with more people from the village. Kylo’s band of warriors and thieves immediately converged with their kindred, slapping shoulders and grasping hands with beards split wide in familial grins. Hux was suddenly caught up a sea of faces he didn’t recognize, hemmed in on all sides and ignored, and he was trying his best to push himself through the crowd to find some dark corner to still his thundering heart when a large hand wrapped closed over his upper arm.

“Come,” Kylo said, and Hux found the way suddenly clear as Kylo’s kindred parted to allow them through.

Hux allowed himself to be led thusly only until they’d broken free, and then he tugged his arm out of Kylo’s grasp. He had no idea if he was still a slave, but neither did he have any intention of being led about like a barnyard animal.

Kylo let him go easily enough, like he’d expected no less, though when Hux planted his feet to demand explanations, Kylo kept walking. Hux gaped after him until Kylo paused in the overhang of an open door and looked back at him. The invitation in his gaze was so compelling that Hux’s stomach instantly dropped, and he found himself following before he’d even sorted out what Kylo’s intentions might be.

When Hux began walking toward him, Kylo gave him a pleased smile that made Hux feel quite warm all over, and he was actually disappointed when, after he slipped into this other room, Kylo left the door open. What he’d been expecting, Hux wasn’t sure.

“There will be a feast tonight, honoring our return,” Kylo told him, slipping his pack off his shoulders and settling it upon a carved wooden chest at the foot of a bed. That bed was opulent, compared to the crude straw mattress on the floor of Hux’s old home; this one was piled with furs, and there was even a stuffed woolen pillow, which was a luxury Hux had only heard of. It struck him suddenly that Kylo was not only the leader of that rabble outside, but a man of great wealth. Instantly, Hux made a connection between Kylo and the woman seated upon the dais with the crown about her head.

“Is that your queen?” Hux asked, peeking through the door once more, though finding the woman missing now from her chair. Or throne, as it might be.

“Arlessa,” Kylo said, working to light the coals in a brazier by the bed. “A queen of our people.”

“And you?” Hux asked.

Though Kylo was busy with setting flame to the coals, Hux suddenly felt him withdraw more than from simply distraction. He seemed to fold in on himself, like the question made him uncomfortable.

“Her son,” came his clipped answer.

 _He’d been kidnapped by a prince._ Hux laughed before he could restrain himself, and it earned him a sharp, angry look.

“No,” Hux said, trying to ease Kylo’s mind. “I just. That morning you came upon me in the field. I had not woken that day expecting to be whisked away by royalty.”

Kylo’s brows pinched over his nose, and Hux could see him debating whether to take offense, and was relieved when instead Kylo’s expression cleared and was replaced by the half-smirk that Hux was beginning to grow rather fond of.

“It is not quite that way,” Kylo said, turning to face him fully. He took several steps toward Hux until he was close enough that when he swayed forward, their faces almost touched. Kylo’s voice was low when he spoke next, and his breath warm against Hux’s lips. “But you can think of me that way, if it pleases you.”

Before Hux could untie his tongue to respond, Kylo had pulled away with that damnable grin that he seemed to take on whenever he amused himself. “Come,” he said, walking through the door again, giving him that same look that Hux felt pull him as though Kylo had him tied to the end of a string. “I will show you where we can wash before we eat and drink.”

Hux remained rooted to the ground just long enough to convince himself he had a choice whether or not to follow this man, and then he shuffled after him when the distance began to feel too great.

  


 

Kylo was ensconced on the long bench that ran the length of the hall, wedged between his countrymen and warmed by the throng of bodies and the blazing coals of the long hearth. The doors were flung open to let in the hint of a breeze, the cool night air a contrast against his hot cheeks.

His mother sat at the end of the table, her smile easy and her people devoted wholly to her; even as Kylo’s eyes fell on her, the people nearest her burst into laughter at something she’d said that Kylo couldn’t hear. By rights, he could have been at the head of the table with her, taking the place that his absent father did not, but Kylo was loathe to answer questions, for his answers always seemed to disappoint.

He looked away from Leia and looked over his shoulder for the hundredth time at Hux, who was perched on a stool in the shadows, back to one of the stout timbers that supported the roof. There was a wooden trencher balanced easily on his knees, and as Kylo watched, he lifted a boiled root vegetable to his mouth and took a bite; he chewed with a downcast gaze, hair shadowing his pale cheeks, and Kylo had to resist the urge to call him over, to shoulder one of the men alongside him aside to make room for Hux at the table.

And yet.

As if reading Kylo’s thoughts, Erik Rollo slammed a meaty palm on the table in front of Kylo, making the dinnerware vibrate in its circumference. “I asked you a question, pup.”

Kylo bristled, but Erik’s face was amiable, grin wide, and he forced a smile in return. “It must not have been an interesting question, else I’d have heard you.”

Erik grunted, taking a swig of his ale. Droplets of the amber liquid clung to the hair of his mustache, falling away as he spoke. “I said, where’d you find the little red cur?”

It took Kylo a moment to realize that Erik was speaking of Hux, and he had to force himself not to growl at him in response. The smile he kept on his face felt tight and unnatural, as did the role he allowed himself to play. “Found him rotting in a field. Thought he’d flourish nicely with a bit of food and water.”

The men and women around him laughed, but Kylo felt only shame at their amusement. He opened his mouth to tell more of this tale, to speak of Hux’s bravery and his warrior’s heart, when Erik waved an empty mug at him.

“Well now that he’s proper grown, have him refill these mugs.”

Kylo almost objected, but it was not yet his place among his people to free slaves. To do so would be to usurp his mother’s authority. Instead, he turned, waited until Hux’s gaze inevitably found his, and gestured at him.

He was met with a baleful glare that would turn any man to stone; Kylo was caught then between the shame of ordering Hux about, and that of showing his kinfolk that there was a clear question of power between he and his pretty redheaded slave.

“Ale,” Kylo shouted at him, to be heard over the din. He brandished his cup at Hux, unnecessarily, as that was one of the Norse words that Hux understood.

He saw Hux consider disobeying, but then saw him take in the fact that he was in a room full of men unlike himself. Something hot and protective prickled along Kylo’s skin at the look on Hux’s face, the way his shoulders sagged as he stood and picked up the pitcher at his feet.

Kylo forced his gaze away, too ashamed to watch Hux’s approach. He couldn’t look up as he watched the pitcher tilt over the waiting cups of the men just around him, nor meet Hux’s gaze as Hux filled the cup beside Kylo’s plate. He distracted himself by being absorbed with the smattering of freckles on Hux’s narrow forearm, the way the golden hair lining it was bright in the firelight, and then the way the lip of the pitcher dipped down to catch the edge of Kylo’s cup just as the ale reached the brim, tipping it over into Kylo’s plate with a thunk. Ale splattered everywhere, pooled on the table and across Kylo’s plate as his countrymen brayed with laughter. Kylo’s gaze snapped to Hux, his own cheeks heating, but was met with a blank expression.

“Many apologies, master,” Hux said, voice dripping with insincerity.

“Thought you said he was cultivated,” Erik laughed.

Kylo only offered him a wan smile in return, reaching up to snatch the ale pitcher out of Hux’s hand before he got the entirety dumped in his lap. “Thank you,” he mumbled in Hux’s language, and waved him away. He righted his mug, refilled it on his own, and asked nothing more of Hux; he hardly heard a word anyone said the rest of the evening, too consumed by feeling Hux’s single bright eye boring into his back, like the gaze of a vengeful god.

The feast had burned itself out near midnight, with men and women stretched along the fur-lined walls, snoring peacefully with full bellies. Kylo was finally able to free himself from the unwanted attention of his kinfolk long enough to seek Hux out. For one, heart-wrenching moment, Kylo thought he had pushed him too far and Hux had fled, but then he found him in his bedroom, leaning alone with his back against the wall, a cup of ale in his hand, just inside the doorway.

The room was lit only by the single high window and the low-burning embers in the brazier, and the low light picked out a scowl on Hux’s mouth that was quickly hidden by the rim of the mug; he watched the way the moonlight glinted off the moisture on Hux’s lips. Kylo remained standing near him, looking down and unsure what to say. He wanted to apologize, but wasn’t sure how to apologize sincerely to someone whom he couldn’t free from his bondage.

“My countrymen were entertained by you tonight,” he tried, meaning that they had found him bold in a way that was becoming. The moment it was out of his mouth, however, Kylo knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“I am sure they were,” Hux snapped. “Since you made a fool of me.” His tone was angry, carrying loudly into the next room.

Wincing, Kylo reached out and pushed the door closed. He took a step closer to Hux, compelled to comfort him, almost overpowered by the need. Hux glared at him, draining the mug in his hand, and Kylo’s eyes were drawn to the way the tip of Hux’s tongue licked the moisture off his bottom lip. It seemed to draw Kylo closer, for they were suddenly only a foot apart.

“I would earn your forgiveness,” Kylo murmured, and found himself leaning forward, entranced and more than a little drunk, dipping his head, wanting to taste that wet mouth as he’d wanted to taste it for days now.

Hux’s eye hooded, his eyebrows shot down, and Kylo barely registered the sound of the wooden cup striking the floor. He did feel, seconds later, the slight tug at his waist and then the sharp pain in his belly.

Looking down in surprise, he found the tip of the dagger that had hung at his belt now pressed hard into the soft flesh of his abdomen, Hux’s fingers closed around the hilt.

“I should kill you for this,” Kylo said, though there was no weight behind it. His tone sounded amused in his own ears. Perhaps it did to Hux too, because when Kylo brought his hand up to gently brush Hux’s knuckles, to ease the dagger out of his palm, Hux let him.

“I thought you said I was too brave to die,” Hux snarled spitefully, even as he let go of the dagger. It clattered against the floor alongside the empty wooden cup, and he let Kylo’s fingers trace the soft skin of his forearm.

Kylo felt Hux’s flesh prickle, and his own body responded to the way he ignited this reaction in Hux. He finally allowed himself to look back to Hux’s face, finding only that same, challenging glare. “Yes,” Kylo said quietly. “You are too brave. And,” he added, because he was more drunk than he thought he was. “Too beautiful.”

Hux’s face did change then, going slack before his eye rounded in surprise, like no one had ever called him beautiful. His lips parted as though he were about to speak, but Kylo closed the distance between them in that second and kissed him.

The kiss was barely realized before, like a viper, Hux’s teeth closed on Kylo’s bottom lip, hard enough that it drew blood. Kylo yelped, pulling back, but before he could react Hux’s hand curled in the front of Kylo’s tunic and jerked him forward, meeting his lips again with a hard kiss.

It tasted like copper and salt and ale, and Hux’s mouth was hot and his tongue soft; Kylo heard himself make a sound not unlike a needy whimper as his own hands closed on Hux’s hips, tugging him closer even as he stepped in. Their hips met, Kylo pressing Hux back against the wall as he lost himself to the taste of his mouth. His hands found skin beneath Hux’s shirt, so achingly soft, and his fingers were tracing the outline of Hux’s belly up to the concavity beneath his sternum before Hux suddenly jerked away.

Kylo looked at him with glazed eyes, chased his lips, but Hux’s head thunked back against the wall and Kylo felt a palm on his chest. He felt Hux trembling through the touch, and Hux’s fingers bunched in the fabric of Kylo’s shirt as though he was forcing himself not to pull Kylo back to him.

“What do you want from me,” Hux asked; though his voice was barely a whisper, Kylo heard fear in it, and the realization made him deflate instantly. He’d thought that he had read the chemistry between them correctly, but. Perhaps he had not.

Kylo drew away slowly. “Was I mistaken?” he asked hoarsely, afraid of the answer.

Hux regarded him silently, and Kylo couldn’t decipher the stricken expression beneath the flushed cheeks. Finally, Hux said, “No.”

Kylo’s brow creased. “Then?” He swayed forward again, but Hux turned his face down, hesitating for a moment before shifting toward Kylo and resting his chin on Kylo’s shoulder.

“I am either your slave,” Hux said, voice low in Kylo’s ear, “or your lover. I will not be both.”

Shame pooled in Kylo’s belly, as much because he’d not thought of their dynamic in this way as the fact that he’d ever thought to make a slave of this fierce creature. He curled an arm around Hux’s waist as chastely as his burning arousal allowed him to, and nuzzled Hux’s neck, overcome by his scent in such a way that it made his mouth water. He swallowed. “I know which I want more,” he mumbled. “Were you to be free, would you stay?”

Hux was silent, his body pliable against Kylo’s. “I could say no,” he said finally. “But I feel like I have no choice either way.”

Kylo drew back then, studying Hux’s face. Though he had only known him a few short days, he read a confusion there that seemed almost existential. As though whatever questions plagued Hux in this moment had no answers even in his own heart.

“Will you stay tonight, at least?”  Kylo asked, reaching up to brush Hux’s cheek with the back of his knuckles. He tilted his chin toward the bed behind them. “Sleep beside me, because you want to?”

He saw Hux’s gaze flick toward the bed, then back to Kylo’s eyes. “Will you make me serve your barbarian kindred ale and eat in the corner like a dog?”

Laughter bubbled in Kylo’s chest, came out as a soft huff. “No. Never again. You are no good at it.”

“Mmm,” Hux hummed, cocking his head. “Then yes.I will stay, for tonight. We will see about tomorrow."

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

It was barely dawn, and yet the various noises of a town waking filtered in through the one narrow window in the room, along with a wan, gray light. Hux groaned softly, not feeling ready to wake; his body ached from the physical exertions of the last few days. It had long been his habit to rise with the sun to complete his laborious chores on his sad little farm, but he found himself letting go of that inclination far too easily. 

The heaps of warm furs and the gentle weight of an arm across his stomach did much to sway him toward laziness.

It took Hux a moment to blink his way out of muzzy half-awareness, to turn his head to regard Kylo’s sleeping form beside him. Hux’s tongue was fuzzy with the residue of the ale he’d drunk the night before, and for a moment he could not recall where he was nor how he came to be in a bed with his captor. As consciousness gained momentum in his addled brain, his flight response poured adrenaline into his limbs and he twitched, dragging a hand down his body only to discover, to his profound relief, that he still had his clothes on. 

The events of the night before slowly began to filter back: Kylo treating him as a dog in the common room, forcing him to wait upon his kindred, the kiss Kylo had pressed to his lips as his hands delved beneath Hux’s tunic. And, far too easily, Kylo coaxing him into this bed, despite Hux’s ire at the boundary of master and slave that Kylo seemed determined to toe.

Quelling the urge to push Kylo away, Hux lay still and willed his fluttering heart to still, told himself that he could enjoy Kylo’s embrace while the beast wasn’t yet awake to witness it. As much as he might crave more than this chaste closeness, Hux was determined to stand his ground. He had spent all the miserable years of his life with scant opportunities, with no prospects for happiness or capacity for entertaining ambition. He was attracted to this rash barbarian curled against him, yes, but Hux would not be a possession. Hux would, however, use Kylo’s desire to possess him as a bargaining tool, as it was the only one that he had. 

Hux stiffened as Kylo shifted and pulled Hux even closer against his broad, pillowy chest. Hux’s back was stiff, but he was loathe to stretch and risk waking Kylo, lest some uncomfortable conversation ensue before Hux had his full wits about him. Instead, Hux forced himself to take a careful, deep breath; the bedding smelled of straw, of old sweat, and of Kylo’s particular, masculine musk that was somehow almost primal. It made Hux’s stomach flutter and his mouth water.  

Hux’s indignance at being persuaded into Kylo’s bed started to fade as he began to recall the details of the night before in better clarity. Kylo had made a decent attempt at being gentlemanly, such as Hux could judge it. He’d insisted on removing Hux’s shoes, which was a wholly new experience on Hux’s part, and surprisingly sensual. Kylo had brought a fresh pitcher of  well-water into the chamber with a single, carved wooden cup. He’d poured a measure for Hux, which was ice-cold and welcoming after the sour ale from the feast, and after Hux had drunk his fill, Kylo had done the same. It was oddly intimate that Kylo had brought only one cup for the two of them. 

Kylo had even fussed a bit about the furs and the pillow on the bed, making sure that Hux had enough to keep him warm, offering him a change of clothes to sleep in, asking Hux if he wanted the brazier stoked to keep the light in the chamber strong, or to let it fade. Either Kylo had never had a partner sleep in the same bed with him, or Hux in particular made him nervous. It had all been a bit much for Hux, but he had bitten back any complaints, finding some sort of enjoyment in letting someone else tend to him. It was new and strange, surely, but thinking back on it as he lay there, Hux could not say that it was wholly uncomfortable. 

As though sensing Hux’s thoughts turning to him, Kylo stirred, turning his head and snuffling sleepily into Hux’s hair, stirring it. His breath was warm, his skin heated by the mound of furs draping them. Kylo’s large hand felt lightly along Hux’s side, just grazing the shape of him with his palm.

Hux couldn’t help but shudder, Kylo’s proximity and the exploratory touch kindling a treacherous fire in his belly.

“Kylo…” Hux growled softly, trying to sound resolved but thwarted by desire and drowsiness. He shifted again, making a token effort to writhe away, turning onto his side to bring his arm between them. As much as he’d like to bake in this warm nest of furs with Kylo, Hux was confident that temptation of Kylo’s body and his soft mouth would render his willpower threadbare. Sighing, he pressed his palm to Kylo’s chest, saying his name again and applying just enough pressure to prohibit being drawn further into the barbarian’s intoxicating embrace.

The sound of his name on Hux’s lips finally pulled Kylo fully from his slumber, his bleary eyes unfocused and sleep-crusted. He rubbed at the lids with thumb and forefinger and blinked at Hux before dropping that hand back to Hux’s waist. He yawned, breath stale, and buried his face in Hux’s hair while his fingers dipped beneath the hem of Hux’s rumpled tunic. He traced the curve of Hux’s torso with his thumb, making the skin prickle with arousal even as Hux pressed harder on Kylo’s chest with his palm.

“Wake up, you great, sodding lump,” Hux said, sighing, digging a thumbnail in for emphasis.

Kylo drew back against the pillow, finally seeming to register the dark look of warning on Hux’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding confused, as though he wasn’t exactly sure what he was sorry for. He removed his hand from Hux’s awkwardly. 

Hux opened his mouth to deliver a scathing remark, but his cultivated hostility began to seep away with Kylo’s apology and the sleepy, off-guard expression on his face. Wild, black hair straggled into Kylo’s eyes, frizzy from friction, and it made him look boyish. Why had the gods saw fit to deliver Hux into the hands of an endearing captor? 

“It’s alright” Hux sighed, making an effort to sound reassuring, but sounding awkward and unsure in his own ears, like he suddenly wasn’t convinced of his own objections. He was both pleased and viscerally disappointed when Kylo moved back, breaking their contact. The well of wariness in Hux’s chest slowly began to drain at the concession. 

Considering how best to keep control of the situation, Hux ran his tongue across his own chapped lips. “Could you perhaps fetch me a bit more of that cool water…?” he asked, and was so bold as to reach towards Kylo to brush a lock of his raven-dark hair out of his sleepy eyes. “And perhaps some breakfast?” He punctuated this with a smile which felt a significantly more coquettish than he’d intended. 

Kylo’s face cleared at the simple request, as though glad for something he could offer Hux. He rolled away from Hux, tossing the furs back and sitting up. He lifted his long arms over his head and stretched the tension from his upper back. 

“You know,” he said, giving Hux a coy look. “It should really be you fetching the water.” 

Hux bristled at Kylo’s ill-timed audacity. “Did you conveniently forget what I said to you last night? Or did you think luring me into your bed once would lead to you getting your way in the future, slave or no?” 

Not waiting for an answer, Hux threw off the furs and began to struggle out of the bed. Before he could get his feet on the floor, however, a hand closed around Hux’s upper arm. Cold anxiety sparked in his animal brain as Hux heard Kylo’s frustrated growl just before the bed creaked behind Hux. And yet the grip on his arm relaxed immediately, having served only to stop Hux from fleeing in anger. Kylo had shifted to his knees at Hux’s back, his hand now sliding down Hux’s arm gently, and Kylo’s voice was quiet, close to his ear. 

“I’m sorry again,” he said softly, and Hux felt Kylo’s long nose brush the underside of his ear. “I won’t make a joke of that again.” Hux could feel a kind of tremulous energy from Kylo, like he was restraining himself from something. From holding Hux to him, perhaps. His lips tentatively brushed the curve of Hux’s jaw as he craned his long neck over Hux’s shoulder. He peppered several small kisses toward Hux’s chin, not demanding, but seeking. “Don’t go,” he murmured. 

Panting from the short burst of angry adrenaline, Hux closed his eyes and stilled. He actually didn’t want to abandon Kylo; there was nothing for him to return to. Hux knew he was liberally pushing his luck, and that Kylo could have beaten or killed him for having such an intractable attitude as a slave, and yet instead Hux was shown remarkable gentleness. Kylo’s large hands were surprisingly gentle, and his apology sounded genuine. 

Hux allowed himself to be lulled by Kylos touch, by those plush lips tracing soft kisses along his jaw. But the fact remained that Hux was still not a free man, and that would continuously sour any potentially intimate interactions with Kylo until rectified. 

“Kylo…” Hux finally spoke, slumping back against him. “I want to be...useful to you. I’m not dead weight, I can fight, and help with some tasks...but I want to be an equal. I cannot bear to merely be a slave, taking orders, having no standing or say. Do you not understand?” he asked, turning then to look Kylo in the eyes. “If you were captured, and made a slave...wouldn’t you be angry? Wouldn’t you want more?” Hux frowned and worried his own lower lip between his teeth, concerned that he sounded as though he were pleading. 

Kylo’s dark amber eyes searched his, a frown making a crease between his heavy eyebrows. “I would,” he admitted. “But it is in name only that you are a slave.” 

Before Hux could protest that being a slave in name only was sufficiently disagreeable, Kylo went on, speaking softly against Hux’s cheek. “I will speak to my mother. I just...must think of what to say. Exactly.” Kylo’s nose flushed a warm pink. “If you were a woman, it would be easier. Although much less appealing.” His lips turned up at one corner in the mischievous smirk Hux was beginning to find utterly endearing. 

Hux couldn’t help laugh at that, his eye crinkling up. The sound was rough, unmusical, as if he hadn’t laughed in a long time and was unused to the mirth. Kylo’s sentiment was achingly familiar; many things would have been more simple, Hux thought, if he himself was attracted to women as society dictated that he should be. A man his age should have taken a wife already; it had worked in Hux’s favor, masking his avoidance, that no woman had been inclined to find herself beholden to the poorly-tended lands and ramshackle home that constituted all Armitage Hux had to offer. 

The irony was not lost on Hux that the first person to ever show the slightest interest in him, despite being emaciated, poor, and disfigured, was a prince of his own people. No one had ever looked at Hux as a man of any significance, much less with desire. It felt genuine, when it could be anything but; Hux was aware that Kylo was indulging his fractious demands, and could very well take from him anything that he wanted, and that, more than anything else, convinced Hux that he was truly wanted. 

And Hux would be lying to himself to pretend the feeling was not mutual. 

“Is there anything I can do? To endear myself to your mother?” Hux asked cautiously, wanting to impress her, or at least seem worthy of her mercy.

Kylo seemed to sense that Hux was relaxing, for he settled more comfortably at Hux’s back, daring to snake an arm around his waist. “She will see what I see in you, given time,” Kylo said, leaning his chin on Hux’s shoulder. “That you are fierce, strong. That you belong with us as an equal. Perhaps someday…” Kylo didn’t finish, the words dying on a wistful sigh that Hux felt against him in the rise and fall of Kylo’s chest. 

Hux felt his heart flutter faster in his chest at the way that Kylo spoke these endearments, as though he truly meant them. Despite the tentative pride this fostered in Hux’s spirit, the words still seemed foreign, meant for someone else. 

“Someday…?” Hux inquired, settling his hand over the strong forearm Kylo had wrapped around him. “Do you think it will take long to gain my freedom?” Hux wondered aloud. He turned his face slightly so he could place a lingering kiss to Kylo’s stubbled cheek. “I would like more than just sleeping beside you, Kylo,” Hux confessed, his voice quiet but not lacking in passion. 

“Would you?” Kylo whispered, hand catching Hux’s chin and turning him further still so that their lips met. The tip of Kylo’s tongue was hot against the crease of Hux’s mouth, but rather than coaxing them open for a deeper kiss, Kylo nipped Hux’s bottom lip softly and drew back. He left an almost chaste kiss on the ridge of Hux’s cheek bone, then crawled around Hux to swing his long legs over the side of the bed. 

“Breakfast,” Kylo said, shaking his long hair back and running his fingers through it. One hand tangled in his sloppy braids, and Hux suddenly wondered if Kylo wove those himself, or if someone else did. The thought made Hux lift his hand to trail the tips of his fingers down the braid that Kylo had twined into his hair days before. Was it a thing mates did for one another? Did Kylo have someone else? 

These thoughts scattered, though, as Kylo stood and turned to hold his hand out for Hux. 

“Come,” he said, face overtaken by a boyish grin. “I will show you our little village.” 

  


 

They shared a meal of leftover stew  from the communal pot in the main room of the longhouse, talking quietly as they sopped the greasy broth up with fresh bread and sipped warm ale. Kylo served Hux, this time, and without comment, and afterward he led Hux out into the newly-minted village.

It seemed the little river-side hamlet had been awake for some time now, most of the people going about their daily chores with a kind of gaiety that must be particular to those that were well-fed, surrounded by their own kin, and filled with purpose. 

“Where do you all...come from?” Hux suddenly found himself asking Kylo. Besides the previous attempted raid on his old home a year ago that had disfigured him, he had never seen people such as these before.

Kylo paused, looking over his shoulder toward the morning sun, then he swiveled so that he was facing Hux. With one hand on Hux’s shoulder, Kylo guided him to turn in the same direction, pointing into the distance over the sloped roofs of the small village. 

“You first must circle the land lying to the east, which your people call England. Then you will sail toward the sun in the morning, away from it in the evening, and you will come eventually to our land.” Kylo sounded almost wistful, as though his heart ached for his own soil, even though he’d come here to steal that of Hux’s people. 

Hux tilted his head as he stared in the direction Kylo had gestured, trying to imagine the stretch of the ocean and the coasts of the foreign lands. He imagined it inhospitable and barren, if Kylos people had been so inspired to escape. “It sounds so far away,” he remarked, a bit of wonder in his tone. He had heard stories of various foreign lands from travelers and merchants, true, but had never dared dream of it himself. 

“Why’d you come here, then?” Hux suddenly asked, turning to look Kylo in the eye. “Are your lands not a good home any longer? Are they not yielding enough food?” he pressed, wanting some sort of explanation as to why he and his people harassed and slaughtered for a few acres of farmland. He did not feel as indignant as perhaps he should, but rather as though he were interviewing Kylo in consideration for joining this campaign.

Kylo’s hand had not left Hux’s shoulder, and he gave it a gentle squeeze that seemed an effort at reassurance. “Our seasons are harsh, the land not as fertile and plentiful as the lands across the sea.” He chewed at his bottom lip with his teeth, studying Hux’s face. “I feel like I should apologize,” he huffed, sounding almost amused. Kylo moved the thumb that rested on Hux’s shoulder, just brushing the bare skin of his neck. “But I regret nothing.” He swayed forward, until their noses almost touched, then added lowly: “Perhaps that makes me a monster.” 

Hux narrowed his eye, lifting his chin as Kylo loomed closer. Perhaps Kylo and his people  _ were _ monsters in the view of some, but from where Hux stood, they were a people that had crossed the sea for the sake of survival. How was that any different from a wolf hunting down a deer to feed itself? Such was the nature of things, the strong versus the weak, and it was better to align oneself, Hux thought, with those strong enough to flourish.

Hux’s gaze softened and the corner of his eye crinkled as he smiled. “Beast,” he teased, tweaking the end of one of Kylo’s long braids. That term has lost its acerbic tone, and was quickly becoming the sort of endearment that would persist through a lifetime.

Kylo’s smile was genuine, by now clearly taking the word as the fond expression that it was. He moved his hand from Hux’s shoulder at last, only to cup Hux’s chin instead, tilting his face up. The outside observer might have thought Kylo was handling Hux roughly, perhaps reminding the slave of his place, but Kylo’s touch was tender. 

“I want to kiss you again,” he said, breath warm against Hux’s lips.  

As much as Hux was tempted to allow such a thing, he hesitated only a moment before ducking away from Kylo and putting an arm’s-length distance between them. “And I want to be a king, but alas...we don’t always get what we want, do we?” The words were harsh, but there was much less venom in his voice than there had been just a day or two ago.

Kylo looked both deflated and amused. “Mmm. I could make you a king,” he said, a cocky grin forming on his lips. “I am royalty, after all.” 

Hux scowled, having to fight the playful grin that threatened to take its place on his lips. “Make me a king…?” he began, and started to wander away. Kylo had promised to show him around the village, after all. There was still plenty to see. “You can’t even make me a free man,” Hux called back with a dismissive wave of his hand. Some of the nearby villagers tried to pretend they hadn’t been watching the two, but they were poor actors, suddenly going about their chores as if they hadn’t been gawking as their prince was led along by his slave.

  
  


They whiled the morning away by meandering slowly through the small village, Kylo introducing Hux to various men, women and children, having a story for Hux about them all that more often than not brought about laughter and more stories. Hux seemed entertained by it all, hovering closely to Kylo’s side. 

Kylo showed Hux to the stables, where he found that Hux took an immediate liking to the horses and goats, and Kylo was content to lean against the stable wall and watch Hux feed meacan and withered apples to the beasts stolen from English soldiers. Something about Hux’s simple fascination with such a domestic, mundane task made Kylo’s heart swell, and coaxed images into his mind of the two of them with a farm of their own. 

Eventually, they found their way to the smithy, gathering beneath the awning together to watch Bridheld shape a new blade. Kylo watched as Hux seemed to fall into a trance with the rise and fall of the hammer, the rhythmic, steady clang of steel. He resisted the urge to twine their fingers together, but not to stand close enough that their shoulders brushed. He, too, watched as the glowing red-orange shaft of the blade began to take shape. 

“Did you ever own a sword of your own?” Kylo asked, then remembered the one at Hux’s hip. “Before you earned this one?” 

The corners of Hux’s mouth tugged upwards ever so slightly at the mention he’d actually earned his current blade. He turned his face away from Kylo though, perhaps pretending to study the rest of the smithy house. 

“No. Not exactly,” he began, and placed his hand up on his own hip as though to keep from fidgeting about with it. “We had an old sword in the house, but it was my father’s. He taught me some...although, most of the time we used sticks for lack of anything better to train with.”

Kylo couldn’t help a huff of amusement. He nudged Hux’s hip with his own. “You are good with sticks.” 

Hux smirked. “Sticks didn’t make the training any less painful when I was younger, though. He never went easy on me. Or my mother.” 

“And then,” Hux continued after a pause, perhaps to gather his thoughts. Kylo found himself leaning almost imperceptibly closer. “He just...left, and took the sword with him,” Hux chewed on the inside of his cheek, the subject an obviously tense one for him. “Left us defenseless. Mostly, anyway. I’ve...always had this knack, for making others ill, if I so wished it upon them. Unfortunately it never worked on my father.” Hux offered Kylo a weak half-smile, like he’d been attempting to make a joke, but it felt more sinister than that.

A sudden flare from the forge lit Hux’s face in that moment, and the blade the blacksmith was smelting upon the anvil glowed noticeably brighter, a flurry of sparks flying off it as the hammer struck. The blacksmith cursed, and Kylo frowned. Then the moment passed, and Kylo was distracted from the curious nature of it by the pang of sympathy in his chest.

“You didn’t need him,” he insisted. “You made your own way. And are stronger for it.” Kylo remembered his own youth, the summer of his thirteenth year, when he’d waited with excitement for his own father to return from trading to take Kylo to his first town gathering as a man. Han had never shown, and his mother had promised him that he would go next year, but young Kylo had gone alone. “You didn’t need him,” Kylo repeated, voice thick, brushing Hux’s knuckles with his own.  

Hux laughed softly at that, a steely edge to it. He twitched his hand away from Kylo’s touch to rub at his other shoulder, the muscle there small because it did not have an arm it needed to support. “Yes, well. He could have helped,” Hux pointed out. 

Kylo felt hotly defensive as Hux’s gesture made him think of the way Hux had been abused and tortured by people that were perhaps even distant kindred of Kylo’s own. The compulsion to protect him was as strong in that moment as he thought of Hux’s past as it had been surrounded by warriors intent on their deaths. 

“You have me now,” Kylo said, the words out of his mouth before he’d even registered the sentiment in his heart. And once they’d been spoken, Kylo knew them to be true, even if he wasn’t sure what it meant. 

“Hmmm,” Hux hummed thoughtfully, his hand drifting from clutching his maimed shoulder to lightly fondling the little braid in his hair that Kylo had made for him. “Perhaps I do.”

Kylo watched as Hux’s fingers traced the shape of the braid, recalling the way Hux had looked floating in that river, pale skin pink with cold and hair wild and dark as blood. He reached up, tugging at the end of the braid and smiling impishly. 

“You know, lovers do these for one another.”

“Oh, do they?” Hux asked, a bite in his tone. He adopted a defensive posture again, and wandered out of the smithy house. “Maybe I  _ could  _ learn to make a braid one-handed,” he started, teeth bared as he practically growled and flexed his fingers in the air beside him. “But I will not bother. Because again, Kylo, you are not my lover. You are only my  _ keeper. _ ”

Kylo’s heart clenched, realizing how he’d grossly misstepped. He hovered beneath the awning of the smithy house watching as Hux wandered absently away, the set of his shoulders tense. He didn’t know what to say, caught between maintaining dignity in front of the men and women of the town who were only pretending not to watch them, and the desire to spring after Hux and gather him into his arms to apologize. Again.

But then Hux turned his head just a fraction, so that he could catch Kylo in his silver-blue gaze, and Kylo thawed from his discomfiture. He strode out into the commons, pressed himself close to Hux’s side. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I sometimes speak of my dreams as though they are reality.” He touched Hux’s fingers again, just grazing the tips. “But I would have it be so.” 

“Then  _ make  _ it so,” Hux challenged, standing his ground and keeping his gaze fixed on Kylo. “You are the son of the Arlessa, are you not? Don’t you hold any sway, any power?” Hux’s cheeks were pink, obscuring the prominent spattering of freckles. “I would be your lover, Kylo,” he went on. “Gladly. But I’ve told you my stance on this. And you keep tempting me to cross this boundary, and it wounds me. Understand?”

Kylo felt like someone was trying to tug the ground out from underneath him, like the gods were trying to keep him unbalanced so that he constantly tripped on his tongue. He took a breath, tried to summon another way to apologize, when a shout from the west pierced the air. 

Adrenaline surged through Kylo’s chest, recognizing the tone of alarm, and his first thought was that they were under attack. Impulsively, he crowded closer to Hux, almost put a hand out to comfort him, but stopped himself at the last moment, thinking Hux would not appreciate the coddling gesture. 

The cry was taken up around the village, notes of concern and inquiry, and Kylo finally set eyes on a harried man limping along with the help of another, arm looped around his waist. Another shout came from the more hale of these men, summoning Kylo’s kinsman to the longhall. The two men had come from the river, up from the sea, and somehow Kylo knew they brought change with them. 

  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

 

 

Change was, indeed, coming. Or rather, war was. 

Kylo’s pulse was elevated as he rolled up one of the more portable furs from the bed, making a neat bundle of it. He pulled his traveling pack from beneath the bed-frame and laid it on the bed, uncinching it and tugging it open. Glancing up, he saw Hux hesitating, watching him. 

“Do you have anything you wish to bring?” he asked, hearing the words sound firm in his own ears, as though he was trying to convince himself that Hux was coming with him regardless of what circumstances might arise. Leia might not allow him to go, or Hux might not want to. This was, after all, his homeland, and Kylo his captor. In his heart, Kylo knew that he would not take Hux from here against his will, though it would carve a hole in his spirit to leave him behind.

Time seemed to slow for a moment as Hux hesitated to answer, and Kylo felt his own chest tighten. 

“I don’t really know,” Hux finally replied, giving a cursory glance about their dim room in the longhouse. “An extra fur, perhaps? There is nothing else, really. Everything I own, I am already wearing,” Hux pointed out, and moved to rest his hand on the hilt of the rudimentary sword that hung from his belt, lifted from the corpse of a hired soldier. 

Kylo was struck by this, and felt a wave of guilt. Having claimed Hux as his slave, he had mentally assigned to Hux all those things which belonged to Kylo, for a master was expected to care for those in his charge. Looking upon Hux now, however, he realized that the Celt truly had nothing beyond that weapon. His previous tunic had been tossed in a corner in that blood-soaked abbey days ago, replaced with one stolen from a deceased monk, and the trousers he wore were ill-fitting cast-offs that had once belonged to Kylo. Even his shoes, which were half hidden beneath the bed, were stolen from the feet of a dead man. 

Kylo swallowed a sigh and offered Hux a lopsided grin, wanting to reassure Hux of a future full of wealth and plenty, but also unable to give him false hope. 

“You will need ten furs where we are going,” he told Hux, changing the subject. “Have you ever seen snow?”

Hux shook his head and stepped over to help roll up another fur. “No. But I’ve heard tales of it,” he replied, not sounding particularly thrilled. “But, if the homes are like this one, with big fireplaces...perhaps I could tolerate it.”

Kylo’s smile widened at the way Hux’s brow was knitted, and he stood up, tugging up another fur from the bed and wrapping it around Hux’s narrow shoulders. 

“Don’t worry,” Kylo murmured, leaning in and pulling Hux closer by the edges of the fur. “I will keep you warm.” He dipped his head closer, tilted his nose and sought Hux’s lips with his own. He felt the warm ghost of Hux’s breath, tasted them with the tip of his tongue, and then…

“Kylo, may I have a moment?” It was his mother, from the doorway, and she used a tone he heard often. One lacking patience. 

Kylo drew back from Hux, swallowing a sigh, and turned to face his mother. Just a half hour past a messenger from their homeland had spread the word of the invasion by a Northern king, a man who had once professed to be Leia’s ally. 

Kylo nodded shortly.  

Hux blinked at the interruption, a rosy color high on his pale cheeks, but he did not attempt to duck away from the Arlessa, as intimidating as Kylo knew his mother could be. He remained close to Kylo, the fur pinched closed at his chest with one hand.

Leia’s discerning gaze lingered on Hux for a long moment before she turned her eyes upwards to regard her son.

“Kylo...” she began. Most often when Leia addressed him, it took the form a lecture. “I wish you the strength of the gods during your battles ahead. May they guide your hand and thus rend our enemies asunder,” she said in an austere tone, bringing one petite hand up to rest it briefly on Kylo’s strong shoulder. “There is something else I bid you to do, once the invaders are defeated. Find yourself a wife. It is time, my son. Sire yourself a few children to remember you by, before Valhalla opens its great hall to you.”

A familiar headache immediately began to form behind Kylo’s eyes and he clenched his teeth. This was not the first time his mother had suggested that he marry and sire children, and while it was his dream to have sons and daughters to remember him by, Kylo was sure his mother was as aware as he was that women were not of interest to him in that way. 

“And after I find this wife,” he asked before he considered his curt tone. “Will these children simply spring out of holes in the ground?”

Leia pursed her lips. “Do I need to instruct you again on how children are gotten? I thought it quite simple,” she said, then shook her head slightly. 

Kylo unconsciously mimicked the face Leia was making, with pursed lips and brows drawn together. He’d heard others say he had his mother’s eyes, especially when he was upset. “I assure you, mother, that I do  _ not _ need that lesson, now or ever.” 

“Kylo,” she sighed, noticeably not glancing towards Hux, who still stood beside Kylo. “I will return to our homeland after you, in the springtime. I will bring treasures and gifts and food, and we shall have a feast. For the wedding. Find yourself a wife by then. It will be good for our people, as well,” she added, her tone softening. “They will have something to look forward to after the long winter.”

He was acutely aware of Hux standing behind him, silent and still as a statue, but Kylo couldn’t bring himself to look at him. “We shall have a feast in honor of my victory over the usurpers,” he told Leia. “That should be enough.” 

“Kylo,” Leia started in again, tone more sharp this time. “My son. Please reconsider,” she pleaded, though with dignity. “After Han left, I…” she trailed off, her dark eyes wandering as she seemed to sort through hurtful memories. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes momentarily, before returning her steadied gaze upwards at her son. 

“I’m growing old. You wish to be arl. The takings from your recent raids have been...a bit wanting. Go, find glory in defeating the invaders back home, but to really give the people something solid to rally around, to believe in...establish your family. It is...important,” Leia told Kylo, not breaking eye contact. “Provide for her. Give her her own home, if you must...she does not need to warm your bed every night Kylo, but by the gods, don’t put this thing off until it’s too late.”

The point she made was one that Kylo could understand, even if his mother did not comprehend that it was not a door Kylo could simply unlock and walk through at will. It would not do to argue about it with her, especially not in front of Hux, despite Hux’s limited command of their language. Thinking of him, Kylo glanced over and found his narrow Celt standing impassively, the fur from the bed still slung over his shoulders like a cloak. Hux met his eyes and Kylo saw the worry there in the lines of his face—fear that he would be left behind overshadowing the determination he’d shown since being taken captive. 

Kylo turned back to his mother. “I will do as you ask,” he growled, having no intention of it. “But I want something in return.” 

Leia’s delicate eyebrows shot upwards at this declaration. “And what could that be?” she asked without hesitation. Her hands moved to brace against her hips, not exactly confrontational, but not casual, either. 

In Gaelic, so that Hux could understand him, Kylo said, “I want his freedom. If I am to fight enemies in your name, I will have the best warriors beside me.”

Hux’s single eye widened, and he quickly glanced back and forth between Kylo and Leia. He even dared a step forward, although he still kept a respectable distance from the arlessa.

Leia did not seem overly surprised at this request. “If that is what you must have to take my advice about children seriously,” she replied, also switching to Gaelic and emphasizing the word  _ children _ . “Then granted. I trust you to pick out your own warriors...if you’re vouching for him, then this Hux is free to join you.” She gave Hux a hard look, one that Kylo thought seemed a warning. 

The arlessa was neither dimwitted, nor blind. She had surely not missed the intimacy between her son and his Celtic slave. Knowing Kylo’s proclivities, there was little doubt that she knew there was more between them, or soon would be. 

“But,” she continued, voice stern again, reverting back to Kylo’s own language. “He has betrayed his own people. While that may have presented as a boon at the time, I bid you, keep a close watch on him. If he also betrays us...put an end to him. I do not abide traitors.”

“He is no traitor, mother,” Kylo said darkly. Having said it, Kylo found that he believed it utterly, despite the fact that Hux had been a prisoner of his people, and that men like Kylo’s had taken Hux’s arm and his eye. Yet Kylo could not shake the vision from the dream he’d had, of Hux stepping from the dragon-boat, war paint on his face. 

Picturing that, something locked in place in Kylo’s perception, and he turned to look at Hux in startled realization. In that dream which had just come to mind, Hux had worn a white fur pinned over his shoulder, very much like the one draped around him now. It was the pelt of a white wolf.

“He is one of us,” Kylo added quietly, searching Hux’s gaze.

Leia sighed, but did not argue further. “Go, then. The ships are being prepared. I have some things to tend to, but I wish you well. And we will see each other again in the springtime,” she said with a sure tone, as if Kylo was at no risk of perishing in the upcoming battles. 

The arlessa left them, then, and Hux immediately closed the small distance between himself and Kylo. “What was that you said?” he practically hissed, voice low, silvery-green eye intense. “I am free now? Is that what you have done?”

Kylo watched his mother leave, then glanced at Hux, surprised himself that Leia had agreed without more of an argument. It wasn’t that freeing a slave, one among many, was something that was particularly noteworthy, nor something that it cost Leia to grant—Kylo was simply not accustomed to easily-won concessions of any kind from her, and could not even remember an example from his childhood.

“Yes,” Kylo told Hux, deciding not to say any of this. It would not do to imply to Hux that his life and his person were things so casually traded. “She has her motivations. I have mine.” 

Hux looked overwhelmed, his face tinted with a ruddy glow and eye bright. He sucked in a sharp lungful of air. “Kylo,” he whispered, apparently at a loss for words. He dropped the fur cloak and reached for the back of Kylo’s head, grabbing and pulling him in for a fierce kiss. It was little more than a hard press of teeth and chapped lips  until Hux tilted his head at a better angle and moistened his lips with his tongue. 

“Kylo,” he exhaled softly, blunt fingernails massaging the back of Kylo’s skull.

Kylo could not help the grin that hampered their kiss. He laid his hands on Hux’s thin hips, bumping their noses together. “I told you that you were not meant to be a slave.” He touched his lips to Hux’s, drew away again. “I have much better things in mind for you.” 

Hux’s gaze narrowed but his pupil had grown fat. “Like what?” Hux pressed with a smirk.

Kylo affected consideration, chewing on his inner cheek. “I want you to cook my meals, darn my socks. Warm my bed and rub my feet each night,” he said, trying and failing to keep the smile from his face. He winced at the look that crossed Hux’s face. “I am not serious,” he laughed. “Don’t look as though you are ready to put a knife in my gut.”

The expression on Hux’s face softened a bit, but only just. “I’d only do perhaps two of those things, any given day. And that’s only if you’ve earned it,” Hux teased in return. He leaned forward, seeking Kylo’s mouth again. 

Kylo rumbled with laughter, feeling giddy; the possibility of being with Hux as a lover and the glory of battle on the horizon was a heady concoction. “And what would I have to do to earn your favor?” he asked, nipping Hux’s bottom lip.

“Hhmmm,” Hux paused, looking thoughtful. “Build me a home, with ten rooms and marble floors. Bring home food and the pelts of great beasts. And shower me with treasure...something better than candlesticks,” Hux murmured, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Make me a king, as you promised earlier,” he added, his hand moving from Kylo’s hair to drift down over his shoulder, coming to rest over his heart.  

Kylo snorted, folding his arms around Hux’s slim waist, tugging Hux flush against his own body. 

“You are never letting me forget those cursed candlesticks, are you?” he growled. “I am taking them with us across the sea, where they will sit on our hearth when we are kings and remind us of our humble beginnings.” He leaned in and nuzzled the soft skin below Hux’s ear, inhaling deeply. There was something intoxicating about Hux’s scent, something that he’d noticed before that seemed particularly  _ Hux _ , but was stronger now, and it stirred a primal place in Kylo’s gut.

Hux regarded Kylo with a half-lidded eye, a grin spreading across his face. “I would like that,” he whispered. “They will have a place of honor.” His hips shifted forward, rocking against Kylo’s own, testing their closeness and this new dynamic between them.

Kylo made a low sound as Hux pressed close, his narrow hips slotting within the boundaries of Kylo’s own, and Kylo stroked his hands over the small of Hux’s back and dipped them beneath the hem of Hux’s tunic. “If my mother had her way,” Kylo said between questing kisses along Hux’s jaw, “we would be sharing that hearth with the wife I am supposed to find once I return home, and the children I am supposed to father.” 

This made Hux pause entirely, and he leaned back just enough to stare into Kylo’s eyes. His gaze was piercing once more, sharp and wary again as the warmth evaporated. “A wife?” he questioned, venom on his tongue. “Was that the deal, then? My freedom, but you must take a wife?”

Kylo sighed, wishing he’d not spoken of it, though it would be better for Hux to know the expectations his mother had for him now, before it became a feud between he and Leia. 

“I have no intention of fulfilling my end of the bargain,” Kylo assured Hux, stroking his knuckles along the warm divot of Hux’s spine. “She’s been trying to have me throw aside who I am in favor of who she thinks I should be for years. If I go to Valhalla leaving no one to remember me here, so be it.”

Hux seemed to mull this over, glancing past Kylo briefly only to return his sharp gaze to him. “You’ve never been good at listening to your mother, have you…?” Hux surmised, shifting a little in Kylo’s embrace so that he could move his hand downwards from Kylo’s chest. “Beast,” he hissed, groping at Kylo’s manhood through the woolen material of his trousers. “You don’t need a wife. I am perfectly capable of taking care of this.”

Kylo’s breath caught in his throat at the brush of Hux’s fingers. “Will you, now?” he hummed, biting his bottom lip against a grin. “And just how will you do that?”

Without further preamble, Hux brushed Kylo’s tunic out of the way and dipped his slender hand beneath the hem of Kylo’s trousers. His fingertips pushed through the thick thatch of hair until he could wrap his hand around Kylo’s cock, giving it a playful squeeze. 

“Like this…” Hux finally replied, his pink tongue running across his own lower lip. He pulled Kylo’s cock free and gave it a few languid strokes. “Are all of you like this? Built like a horse…?” Hux asked.  He looked a bit awed, lips parted as he focused on the movement of his hand, stroking the foreskin back..

Kylo burst into laughter, short and muffled immediately when he was struck with concern that someone would come to see what the noise was about. He was rapidly hardening in Hux’s hand, and he leaned back and looked between them so he could see those slender, pale fingers wrapped around his length. The sight made his skin tingle with arousal. 

“Have you had your hand around many horse cocks, then?” he asked breathily, thrusting his hips toward Hux. “Is that what they’re like?”

Hux scowled at the laugh, but his expression slipped easily back into a smirk. Instead of responding, he tipped his head forward to spit into the palm of his hand, and the lubrication eased the friction when he took up Kylo’s cock again. Kylo was mollified by the fact that Hux was plainly aroused as well, his own trousers tenting beneath his tunic.

Hux stroked him as they both were mesmerized by the sight, until Hux looked up at and caught Kylo’s gaze. 

“You say I am a free man now, and yet I am still doing all the work,” he said, a small moue of disappointment on his face. 

Kylo huffed a laugh. “And I thought that I...ah...” He twitched when Hux’s thumb rubbed through his slit, spreading a thin smear of pre-ejaculate over the head, which was just peeking through the foreskin as Kylo hardened fully. “I thought that I wasn’t allowed to touch.” He still had one hand beneath Hux’s tunic, and he slid it down now, working his fingers beneath the waistband of Hux’s trousers. “Or am I?”

Hux’s low moan made Kylo shiver with arousal and made his cock jump in Hux’s palm. The embers over in the fireplace that had been burning low, left untended from overnight, sparked and hissed with a renewed glow when Kylo leaned into capture Hux’s lips in another kiss, deeper now. 

“Yes, Kylo...for the love of God touch me,” Hux whispered when they broke for air. He nuzzled Kylo’s jaw, inhaling deeply, nipping at the skin of the scar that ran the length of Kylo’s neck. 

Permission given, Kylo pulled away from Hux, captured his hips with both hands, and spun him around. Hux yelped, caught by surprise, then growled low in his throat when Kylo tugged him back. Kylo’s cock was pinned between their bodies now, an adjustment of his hips coaxing it into Hux’s cleft. He was tempted to push Hux’s trousers down, but there was little time, and Kylo wanted to save that intimacy for a moment when he could savor it. Now, however, all he wanted was to touch.

“Kylo,” Hux whispered, squirming in his grasp as though to turn around again, and Kylo could feel Hux’s rapid pulse in the artery below his jaw as he pressed his lips there. 

“Shhh,” Kylo murmured, pushing Hux’s tunic aside and sliding one hand beneath. 

Hux flinched when Kylo’s fingers brushed the soft skin of his belly, and he took a shuddering breath when Kylo tugged at the tightly cinched knot of the trousers, dipping his hand inside. 

Kylo’s eyes fluttered shut as he touched Hux for the first time, finding his cock short and thick, the perfect size to fit in his palm. Kylo cupped him, breathing against the side of Hux’s neck as he wrapped fingers around Hux’s base and felt his body go slack. 

“You are perfect,” Kylo whispered, tonguing the soft, fat lobe of Hux’s ear, feeling him shiver.

“You are a liar, Kylo Ren,” Hux said, voice thick.

“Never. I will always tell you the truth.” Kylo held Hux to him with one arm around Hux’s trim waist as he began to stroke him, experimenting with the pace and the movement of the foreskin, searching for the right pressure. Kylo had only ever pleasured himself this way, and Hux felt very different in his hand. 

“How am I supposed to please you, trapped this way?” Hux asked, breaking off in a groan when Kylo stroked his full length. 

“This does please me,” Kylo whispered, sliding his hand back down Hux’s shaft, squeezing gently to offset the lack of lubrication. He did not want to let go of Hux to remedy the situation, knowing that Hux was unlikely to offer him this vulnerability again. 

Hux made a breathy, high sound that Kylo thought was nervous, aroused laughter. “Then you will prove to be enjoyably low maintenance, I think.” 

Kylo smiled against Hux’s neck, tonguing the sweet tasting skin just above his shoulder and rolling his hips forward. The friction against Hux made him groan, and he timed it with another stroke to Hux’s cock, then another, until he had a rhythm built. Hux rocked back against him, seeming as eager to feel the swell of Kylo’s length as he was to rut forward into Kylo’s hand. 

“Kylo,” Hux hissed, thin fingers latching onto Kylo’s wrist. “I’m close. Let me…” Kylo did not allow him to finish, his free hand reaching between Hux’s legs to cup his heavy balls, and that sent Hux over the edge with a surprised shout, gasping for air and shaking against Kylo. The pulse of come over Kylo’s knuckles and the sudden, intoxicating, mouth-watering smell had Kylo following. His own spend splashed over Hux’s lower back where Kylo’s cockhead had pushed beneath the tunic. 

“Gods…” Kylo rasped, knees weak. He wasn’t sure if he was holding Hux up, or if Hux was keeping Kylo from sinking to the floor. 

“Yes,” Hux breathed. “Gods.” He was still grasping Kylo’s wrist, fingers loosely circling it as Kylo stroked him through the last shudders of his climax. Hux grasped at his trousers, holding them up when Kylo withdrew his own hand.

Kylo stepped back far enough to tug his own trousers over his flagging cock, lifting the hand smeared in Hux’s spend to his lips and flicking his tongue experimentally over the clear fluid. Hux turned just in time to see him do it, mouth falling open. Kylo tasted the fluid again, licking a stripe across his palm--it was bitter and salty at once, lukewarm, and made his cock twitch again. 

“That is disgusting,” Hux said, tone suggesting that he found it anything but. 

Kylo smiled, wiping the hand on his pants. 

“So is that,” Hux added, more convincingly. He rubbed his own tunic into the small of his back, pressing it below the waistband of his trouser as he shifted uncomfortably. “I should tell you where all your spend has gone.”

Kylo burst into laughter at Hux’s severe expression, earning a look of disbelief that faded quickly into a fond smirk. Before Hux could say more, Kylo pulled the Celt to him with a fist in his tunic and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth. 

“Mmm, come on…” Hux managed to gasp when they parted. “We have a ship to catch, do we not? Or I fear your mother might appear again to lecture you further,” Hux said with a rueful grin. 

Kylo rolled his eyes. “Yes. I am quite sure of both,” he said. 

  
  
  
  


Hux shrugged his shoulder to shift the weight of his bag, stuffed full of foodstuffs and, true to Kylo’s word, that set cursed of candlesticks. Extra furs strapped to the bag made it unwieldy and heavy, and Hux gripped at the strap tightly with his one hand. Kylo had offered to carry it, but Hux had snatched the bag back from him, insisting on hauling it himself. Kylo should know by now that Hux was no weakling damsel, and that he could take care of his own things. 

The river was calm, as they were still miles inland from the sea. Hux was unsure what to expect from the ocean; he’d never been out upon the waves, and the tiny whitewater ripples across the river were surely nothing in comparison.

Now that he found himself about to step upon a sailing vessel bound for an unknown land, he hesitated. A memory of his father bubbled up from the depths, one of his drunken rages. He had loved to bluster and carry on, cursing and lashing out at anything that moved. That particular evening, Hux had dared asked him about the sea, having heard one of the other children mention it, hoping to have a rare moment where his father might tell him a story or teach him something. Instead, his father cursed and hollered, swearing he’d never set foot upon the cursed water ever again, that Hux was a fool for even inquiring. Hux had never understood what it was about the sea that had put his father into such a state, but he’d never summoned the courage to ask.

With a determined huff, Hux stepped forward into the wooden vessel. He wasn’t a coward...he wasn’t his father. But when the boat lurched as other men and women boarded, Hux swallowed hard, his face wan. 

He felt a steadying hand low on his back which drifted to his hip as Kylo leaned closer to him, speaking into his ear from behind. 

“You’ll have your sea-legs soon enough,” he teased. 

Hux had a retort ready, his silver-green eye flashing, but the hard words died on his tongue. He was more or less a free man amongst these people now, and ironically enough, Kylo was his benefactor. Hux felt a new desire to please the striking beast who had kidnapped him, rather than hiss at him like a feral cat. He’d no intention of playing the demure flower, of course, but allowing his edges to soften would surely endear him to Kylo. For good or for worse, this foreign warrior, once his enemy, was now his suitor. 

“Sea-legs?” Hux mused, unconvinced, indulged in leaning back against Kylo’s solid, comforting touch. 

Oh, how the gods loved to balance out one’s luck. Hux had been freed, but now they were off to war, packed into a small vessel with many other people. He couldn’t help a twinge of longing for the thought of being able to remain in the longhouse just one more night, savoring comfort and privacy in each other’s arms.

Hux was disappointed briefly when Kylo’s response was to let go of him and step to the side, toward the center of the ship, but then Kylo reached out and caught Hux’s fingers, offering a steady hand so Hux could join him near the center mast. The sail overhead was furled tightly against the stout wooden beam, secured with rope. 

“The sea is a like a wild beast,” Kylo said, setting down his bag and taking Hux’s. “She cannot be tamed, but you can learn to harness her wild nature. But be wary of angering Aegir, lest he cast his net to drag you below the surface to his kingdom.” He grinned at Hux, as though he found this sort of dire and mystical warning amusing.

Hux blinked, scowling slightly. “Ae-gir…” he repeated carefully, trying to get the pronunciation right. “Mmm.” He gave Kylo a thorough glance from head to toe. “I seem to have a talent for taming wild beasts.” He allowed himself a small smile, daring to feel excited. Free.

Kylo’s toothy half-grin said that he’d appreciated the effort, at least. “I’m civilized,” he said, reaching out to tug at Hux’s braid. “More so than you,  _ min røde rev _ .” 

Hux swatted at Kylo’s hand, then immediately regretted the action as the boat was unmoored and pushed away from shore. Off-balance, Hux fell bodily against Kylo, and he clung to Kylo, red-faced with embarrassment. 

Kylo deftly caught him, guiding Hux to solid footing over the spine of the ship. "Use the mast for balance.  You'll want to keep close to the center of the ship to avoid the oars. Unless you'd like a turn at one?" He said it with all seriousness, as though he would not argue that Hux could not do so one-armed.

Hux blinked, a bit confused by the question at first. It hadn’t been an order, or even a challenge, really. But now Hux was certainly curious if he could handle one of the oars, which was more than twice his height in length. The doubtful glances that Kylo’s people had thrown at him since boarding the ship, and the amused chuckles as he’d lost his balance, made Hux burn to prove himself, to earn their respect.

He turned toward one of the nearest benches, watching the rower’s technique for a few moments until he felt confident he could mimic it. 

“May I?” he asked, and was grateful that the blonde woman knew enough of his language to understand. She moved off the bench to make room for Hux, and Hux couldn’t help but eye her well-muscled arms. If one needed muscle like that to move these oars...Hux swallowed, suddenly much less confident.

He would not be deterred, however, and took his place on the bench, ignoring the mirthful gaze of the woman he’d displaced. She expected him to make a spectacle out of himself, no doubt.

“By the way,” he directed at Kylo, giving the oar an experimental push-and-draw. It was definitely harder than it looked, but the build of the ships made it intuitive. “What is the meaning of  _ min røde rev?”  _

“An insult? Or a nickname, perhaps…?” Hux trailed off, staring up at Kylo. There was still challenge in his gaze, but the fire was more welcoming than before. He fell into rhythm with the other rowers, matching the pace if not quite the pull. He thought, with practice, he might be of use. At the very least, he’d put muscle on.

Kylo seemed entranced at first, watching Hux as he familiarized himself with the motion of the oars. When Hux's question finally dawned on him, he smiled and settled on the bench beside him, careful to leave room for the long oar handle. "It means red fox. Or," he added, running a thumb down the small of Hux's back. "My red fox."

A grin started to creep onto Hux’s face, and he tried to suppress it with other eyes upon them. “Oh.  _ Your _ red fox. Is that so?” He grunted as he pulled back on the oar again, leaning toward the gunwhale to compensate for his imbalance. The exercise was invigorating, bringing warmth to his cheeks and a pleasant burn in his shoulder. “If I am your red fox,” he began, “then you are my  _ mac tíre dubh.  _ Black wolf,” Hux told Kylo. “Or would you rather be  _ iompróidh?  _ You’re as large as a bear, without a doubt.”

Kylo’s dark eyes seemed to sparkle in the reflection of sunlight off the water. “I will go by any name you wish, as long as you say it fondly,” he murmured, leaning in whisper the last words in Hux’s ear. Hux could feel the curve of Kylo’s lips as he smiled. 

Kylo pulled away, however, as the boat rocked while heading out into the faster current. Before them, the waterway stretched through grassland and vanished into a hazy, blue-grey horizon.

“It is time,” Kylo told Hux, brushing Hux’s thigh lightly with his fingers again, as though they needed to be connected somehow. “We are going home.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

Kylo had climbed aboard the ship bound for his homeland full of excitement and anticipation, almost giddy at the way the tide was not only carrying him back to Okstad, but also toward a tentative future with Hux. 

As the boat had drifted down the river toward the sea, Kylo had dared to imagine abandoning Leia’s decrees and the bonds of her expectations when they reached the shore again, and disappearing into the hills with Hux at his side to make their own homestead. Perhaps others would follow them in time, and a settlement of those who knew and respected them both would rise up around them. They would raid together, gather wealth, find good lands to farm; they would live as mated couples did--a simple dream made complex by the expectations of others.

Now, however, after three days at sea, Kylo wasn’t sure if Hux would even live to see land again at all, much less prosper upon it.

Glancing at him, Kylo felt the pit of worry in his belly yawn wider. Hux blinked in the sheeting rain that pelted the boat, given to trying to shade his eye with one hand rather than hold the sopping fur over his shoulders. He looked as green as it was possible to look in the ambiguous twilight of a storm at sea, and the expressive, fox-like face that Kylo had grown to appreciate so much was near gaunt with sea-sickness and tension. 

Hux hadn’t eaten in days--anything he tried to force down came back up almost the moment he’d swallowed it. Kylo could read the stiffness in Hux’s limbs, and the Celt’s pale arm was speckled with bruises from being knocked about against the ribs of the boat. 

They were all fighting a battle with the sea this trip, fighting to stay afloat; Kylo had taken his grueling turn at the oar and Hux had tried to do the same, but Kylo had refused to allow it. Hux’s pride be damned. Kylo would not have him washed over the edge.

Kylo was wedged beside him in the gunwale now, back to the mast, arm aching from keeping it curled around Hux’s tense frame. He gave him a reassuring squeeze that must have been barely registered through the sodden fur Hux had just tried to pull around himself again, miserably, so Kylo tugged him close enough to speak into his ear loudly enough to be heard over the crashing sea. 

“You should really try to eat something. It’s been too long, and you’re already too skinny.” He was trying to tease, but his inflection was lost in the din of the sea.

Hux looked up at meet Kylo’s gaze when he spoke, his gaze almost icy beneath the ragged viel of exhaustion. “There’s no use.” Hux had to shout over the noise of the storm. He shifted more towards Kylo, wedging himself as close as he physically could. Kylo couldn’t help but notice the way Hux’s ears, peeking from beneath his drenched, russet hair, appeared almost see-through, as though Hux were beginning to fade from the corporeal world. 

Kylo sighed, chewing on the inside of his cheek and frowning. He glanced from Hux’s ears to the fingers clutching the fur close to his chest--the tips near the bluish nails were almost translucent, and Kylo wondered if all Celts reacted to water like this. Whatever the truth of it, Kylo wouldn’t let this one starve or drown. 

He snaked his arm away from Hux’s waist, leaning forward to drag his bag across the hull toward him. It was treated leather and only wet on the outside, and the pouch that Kylo drew out sheltered dried herbs that many of his people carried. He pinched out a bit of mint, which his mother had given him for sickness of the stomach when he was younger, and which Kylo kept now to keep his breath fresh. He cinched his bag again and held the herbs out to Hux. 

“Chew on this,” he told Hux, miming the motion of putting it into his mouth when Hux looked at him in confusion. 

After a few experimental chews on the dried mint leaves, a delighted look crossed Hux’s face and put some spark back in his eye. “Tastes good,” he commented, and put the rest of the sprig into his mouth. 

A frustrated, angry shout sounded from the bow as a crashing wave nearly knocked over a man as broad as Kylo. Most of the boat’s occupants were tired from fighting the constant storm, and there was yet to be any end of it in sight.

Kylo recognized Colborn as the man who’d cried out, and saw him whirl clumsily around to stalk towards Kylo and Hux as well as his legs could carry him on the pitching deck. “You!” he practically snarled, jabbing an accusatory finger towards Hux. 

“You little witch! The gods are angry you’ve stowed away with us! I’ve heard of your powers. You would bring destruction upon us!” Colborn accused.

Hux stared wide-eyed, but he didn’t look frightened. He rarely did, as far as Kylo had noticed.

Kylo’s brow furrowed and he tensed, swaying instinctively toward Hux as though to shield him with his body, even though with their positions huddled on the deck it was of little use. Colborn had said that he’d heard of Hux’s powers, which meant that his men were talking about the Celt, and perhaps unfavorably. He’d expected some talk, of course, not naive enough to think that others had not noticed that their arl’s son favored a man in the ways that most men favored women, but to have Hux accused of bringing the disfavor of the gods upon them was unanticipated. 

“There is no one stowed away upon this vessel,” Kylo growled. “Lest  Ægir wishes us not to be carrying home cowards who cannot weather his tempers like a true Ostman.” 

“My temper?” Colborn snapped, the craze of desperation showing in his wild, dangerous eyes. “You of all people should not be scolding others for their temper.”

With that, the imposing man grabbed at the front of Hux’s tunic and hauled him up, making as though to toss him overboard, but Colborn faltered as Hux yelped and kneed the man hard between the thighs. 

Kylo did not even wait for the shock of Colborn’s rash action to settle before he too lurched to his feet, fighting to keep his balance, feet spread apart on the rocking hull. He reached for Hux, but just as his fingers grazed Hux’s sodden tunic, Colborn jerked him away, out of Kylo’s reach, and shoved him down into the bottom of the boat. Hux’s feet tangled in the discarded fur and he collapsed in a heap, unable to catch himself with his good arm. The look of pain on Hux’s face made Kylo see red.

“You’re well-versed enough in my temper, yet you’re calling it down on your head?” Kylo shouted at Colborn, the words resonating over the storm. He could feel the eyes of the other men on them, though no one moved to interfere; they were struggling enough to keep the ship from floundering, and Colborn was known for his habit of dissent. That, and he’d always been one to challenge Kylo, who had broken his nose in a fist fight at the age of twelve, and never been forgiven for it.

Colborn grinned, teeth sharp, and a flash of lightning strobed across the boat. “I’m not afraid of you,” he  answered, one hand gripping the hilt of the sword strapped at his side. “It’s high time we settled all this. It should be me who becomes arl, not you.…” Colborn trailed off then, a strange look overtaking his face. He looked as if he might be ill, and there was Hux still lying on the deck behind him, glaring up at him.

Panic fluttered in Kylo’s chest at the way Colborn hovered so close to Hux with his hand on the pommel of his sword; the man was a warrior, and muscle memory alone could draw that weapon and plunge it into Hux’s chest. As quickly as the thought passed through his mind, Kylo’s dagger was in his own hand, and he maneuvered himself between the two men. 

“I won’t warn you again, Colborn,” Kylo shouted, eyes squinted against the rain. “Stand down. The sea is not the place for this conflict.” As if to emphasize this point, another boom of thunder crashed overhead, shivering through the wood beneath Kylo’s feet. The swell of another wave grew heavier on the wind and the boat titled to stern, as though  Ægir’s  hand was trying to cast them down.

The surge nearly made Kylo lose his precarious balance, and he skidded over the wet deck before his foot wedged against one of the boat’s horizontal ribs. Colborn was not so lucky, and he tumbled forward, one arm windmilling at his side while the other hand shot out to grab a fistful of Kylo’s tunic. Whether that was to steady himself or an act of aggression was not clear, but the result was that Kylo was shoved backward toward the ship’s mast, the weight of Colborn’s body knocking him hard against the beam. It punched the wind out of Kylo’s lungs, and a sharp pain lanced through his ankle as the angle twisted it.

It seemed they were both stunned for a moment, but then Kylo felt Colborn scrabbling for the short sword at his belt. Sharper instincts gave Kylo a second’s edge, and he slammed his own dagger up between them and felt it slip easily into the space between Colborn’s ribs. The man’s mouth made an ‘O’ of complete surprise, and he slumped forward. Kylo’s aim had been true, and the light left Colborn’s eyes quickly.

Kylo’s former kinsman became dead weight, and Kylo jerked his dagger out and shoved Colborn aside. His heavy form crashed into the gunwale, the rain so heavy that it sluiced off any hint of blood; Colborn might have been sleeping, but for the vacant eyes. 

Kylo stared at him, jaw clenched and dagger so tight in his fist that the wire-wrapped pommel bit into the flesh. He glanced wildly about the ship, looking at each somber face. 

“Does anyone else wish to challenge me?” he shouted. 

He was greeted only by silence, pursed lips and furrowed brows, and a few of his kinsman looked away. There would be repercussions for this, Kylo suspected, but they would wait. 

Satisfied, he tucked his dagger into his belt again where it could easily be brought to hand if needed, then limped the few steps to Hux and crouched.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he knelt, pressing his face close so that he could speak into Hux’s ear. 

Hux fixed him with a storm-silver eye and reached up to push some of Kylo’s wet hair away from his face before grabbing tightly at the front of Kylo’s soaked tunic. “I’m fine, Kylo,” Hux replied, but his normally firm voice was shaky rasp. “You’re hurt...I’m..” He faltered, wincing. “How much longer, is it? I miss warm furs and hot meals.” He offered Kylo a weak smile, leaning closer to press nose to the side of Kylo’s head, speaking into his ear. “Thank you for defending me,” he said, barely audible.

Kylo curled his arm around Hux’s narrow back, settling onto the deck beside him. He could feel the tremor running through Hux’s frame, and Kylo leaned close to him to share his warmth. “I will always defend you,” Kylo told him, nuzzling the frigid skin beneath Hux’s ear. “Against the gods themselves, if I must.”

  
  


The storms continued on and off for another four full days and nights before the wave-tossed boat reached the far shore of Kylo’s homeland. Luckily for the weary crew, it seemed the rumored conflict that had brought them home had not quite reached Okstad yet. 

Hux looked like a ghost, ready to shuffle off the mortal coil. He seemed to drift in and out of sleep, nuzzled in close against Kylo’s chest. His arm and ears had turned quite see-through, pinkish-red and lined with a map of blue veins, and the rest of the crew kept casting darkly curious glances Hux’s way. They were smart enough, however, not to express the same doubts that Colborn had harbored, if they indeed shared them. 

Kylo had become increasingly worried about Hux as the days had dragged by; no matter how many times they crossed the sea to the western lands, there was never that absolute surety that the currents would carry them straight. Kylo had offered Colborn’s body to the Aegir in hopes that he would ease their passage, and then he had waited, holding Hux close, to see if the sea god had been angered by the slaying of his kinsman. When shore finally appeared on the afternoon of their fifth day at sea, Kylo relaxed for the first time in days. 

Hux, however, was only barely conscious when they made landfall; Kylo had abandoned his excitement at sharing Hux’s first view of his homeland in favor of getting the Celt off the boat and into dry clothes as soon as possible. The scenery could wait—Hux felt like ice, was as pale as a spirit, and his body weighed significantly less after the trip. He’d eaten barely anything, and what little he’d forced down had come back up. 

There were those among the party that seemed to feel a particular loyalty to Kylo, for when they made landfall, several offered their assistance to help Hux from the boat and haul his and Kylo’s things along after. When Hux’s feet finally came to rest on the solid, unmoving pier that stretched out from the shore of Okstad, his knees almost buckled and Kylo’s grip around his waist tightened so firmly that a surprised grunt left Hux’s throat. 

After a moment of being supported by the stronger man, Hux managed to blink open his eye and get a look at where they’d landed. Thankfully, the sun was shining this day, but Hux still shivered and his legs were wobbly, no doubt still feeling the lurching of the angry sea. 

“We’re here…?” Hux managed to croak, and made the effort to stand a little straighter. Despite how much he’d deteriorated over the course of the trip, just being back on solid land already seemed to have given him back at least some of his strength. “Kylo,” Hux sighed, still leaning against him. “The cliffs, the trees…” He turned his head to look behind them. “The  _ mountains _ . It’s beautiful,” he added in an awed whisper.

Kylo squeezed Hux to him gently. “It is your home,” he said. “When you have your feet again, I will show you more.” Kylo gave him an encouraging smile, trying to shake that fear that Hux wouldn’t last that long. “You can climb your first mountain,” he teased. 

Hux closed his eye again and swallowed. “Isn’t there a battle on the horizon?” he asked, and braced his trembling hand on the hilt of his sword, which thankfully hadn’t been lost to the stormy sea. “I’ll survive that first. Then, perhaps I’ll consider the mountains,” he told Kylo, offering a small, tired grin.

Kylo breathed out in relief, starting to walk slowly down the pier as he guided Hux along at his side, still supporting his emaciated frame. “Still rumors on the wind,” he told Hux, knowing there was more to it, but unwilling to add that to Hux’s stress. As it was, he wanted Hux nowhere near any fighting that might arise. “Scouts will ride out to learn the truth of it. I will consult my grandfather, and we will see after that what battles await us. For now, rest. Food. Dry clothes.”

Hux looked relieved by this news as well, and stepped along carefully to keep up. “Oh. That is good, then. I think I could finally eat. Is the sea always that way? I think I know now why my father despised it so much.” 

Kylo chuckled. “The sea is never the same twice. As full of moods as the gods themselves. Death and life alike.” Kylo gestured at a man with a sturdy net thrown over his shoulder who walked ahead of them on the pier, carrying a bounty of fat silver fish toward the shore.  

“Well, it seems I met the sea during one of her worst moods,” Hux commented while staring at the way the fish glittered in the sun.

As they headed into town, some of the folk nodded a greeting to Kylo, and some hailed him out loud. Hux kept to himself and stayed close to Kylo. After the way Colborn had behaved, Kylo didn’t blame Hux for being wary of the rest of his people. He hoped though that, given some time, Hux would feel welcomed by them and at home amongst them.

The longhouses and various other structures were clearly older than the ones they’d left back in Hux’s land, and more decorated with intricate painted and carved designs. Kylo led Hux into one of the bigger houses towards the center of town. Thankfully it was almost dinner time, but instead of sitting down at one of the tables amongst his people, Kylo grabbed an armful of bread, meat, and cheese and disappeared with Hux through the door at the far end of the gathering hall before anyone got the chance to trap them with chatter and questions. Back here, it was much more blessedly quiet.

Hux had managed to grab a tankard of ale, but half of it must have sloshed out at some point as they had dodged people to make their way out of the main hall. Still trembling, Hux set the tankard down on a wooden table top that was smooth with age and use.

“Is this your house, then?” he asked, squinting to see in the dim lighting. The fireplace was cold and dark, and there was just a narrow, slit window high up in the roof, very much like the other house they’d stayed in. “Or do you just stay here when you’re visiting?” 

“It is my family home,” Kylo said. “Though traditionally it belongs to the village, to the arl. Was that not my family, I would go elsewhere.” 

Hux tugged at his own belt with his one hand, easily dropping it off his narrow hips and sending the sword clattering to the floor. He unabashedly pulled his still damp tunic over his head next, his red hair that was already in dire need of a brushing and re-braiding appearing not much better than wild bird’s nest.

His trembling turned into a shiver, but it seemed he had not dropped as much weight as Kylo had been feared. His ribs were too obvious, but he seemed not much worse for wear than he’d been when Kylo had first taken him captive. Hux looked a bit delicate, but not in any direct danger of starving despite not having eaten much during their trip across the sea. 

Kylo’s eyes had been drawn down the pale lines of Hux’s narrow form, seeing the clammy skin speckled with gooseflesh and washed-out freckles. Hux’s belly was concave, soft, and the trail of red hair that ran down from his navel was a darker red than the hair on his head, and disappeared into the ill-fitting trousers that had slipped low on Hux’s hips. 

The Celt turned an exhausted gaze on him, rubbing feeling into the skin of his opposite shoulder, and when a tired half-smirk played across Hux’s lips, Kylo realized he was staring, mouth open and hands full of their take from the communal dining room. 

Kylo bit his bottom lip against a grin, moving to deposit their meal on the table before sidling closer to Hux. He told himself that now was not the time to be aroused, that Hux needed rest, food, warmth, but Kylo couldn’t help being suffused with a thrill at the fact that Hux was here, in Kylo’s homeland, in the arl’s chambers and was a free man. 

“Can I help?” Kylo asked in a low voice, closing the space between them and pressing his nose to the arch of Hux’s cheek, brushing the pads of his fingers against Hux’s sternum and drawing them down toward the waistband of Hux’s trousers, questioningly.

Hux braced his semi-translucent hand against Kylo’s chest, but did not push him away. “Yes. By finding some dry clothing, and warming the hearth,” he replied, a bit of a sparkle in his eye despite his exhaustion. 

Kylo huffed a small laugh, duly if gently chastised. He did not part from Hux before closing his own hand over the pale fingers resting against his chest, bringing them to his lips to press a kiss to the knuckles. 

The hearth was stocked with dried tinder and wood, and Kylo got to work lighting a fire. He built it larger than need be, knowing that soon enough the room would be near sweltering this time of day in the warm season, but Hux needed warmth, and quickly. After flames were licking hungrily at the wood, tinder crackling as it burned, Kylo stood and dusted his hands as he gazed around the room, gnawing on his bottom lip. He’d neglected to mention to Hux that this was not, exactly,  _ his  _ room. This was the chamber set aside for the arl--or in this case, the arlessa--and there was naught in the chests that belonged to Kylo. 

Glancing sheepishly at Hux, finding him turned away to face the table, Kylo ventured to a chest beneath the room’s one, angular window. He crouched and flicked the lid back, hiding it with his body lest Hux make out what was undoubtedly his mother’s clothing.

He rifled through the chest for a moment, in too much of a hurry to take care with the arrangement, and plucked out a dark green robe trimmed in black wolf’s pelt. He recalled it being a bit big on Leia, the sleeves overlong, but he had no doubt it would come only mid-calf on Hux. Still, it was better than nothing. Kylo would get around to showing Hux around the longhouse, and would think of a reasonable explanation for commandeering Leia’s room by that time.

He draped the robe over his forearm and dropped the lid of the chest, then carried the fresh clothing to Hux. 

“I will have new things made for you,” he said, offering Hux the robe on his arm and then suddenly realizing that he would have to pin the sleeve; far be it from his mother not to notice and make mention of that puncture mark. There was time to think of an explanation for that as well. 

Hux chewed on a mouthful of bread, and regarded Kylo silently for a long moment as he offered himthe rich looking long green robe. 

“How am I supposed to wear such a thing…” Hux murmured, and touched at the woven, embroidered wool fabric and fur collar once he’d set the bread back down. “I’d certainly ruin it. Get it dirty somehow. I’ve never seen something so fine in all my life.”

Kylo just smiled, shaking the robe out as though it were nothing to remark upon, and held it open for Hux. “You’ll have to stop eating long enough to put it on,” he teased. 

Hux couldn’t help but smile a little too, and carefully raised his arm to slip it through the right side sleeve.  “It’s magnificent,” he commented, running his hand along the soft fur trim. 

He wearily sank down in one of the nearby chairs at the table, huffing a tired sigh. “Kylo,” Hux began as he picked the small loaf of bread up once more. Color and solidity seemed to be returning to his fingers and ears. “You said I am free, but...will your people recognize that? The one you killed, on the boat...he was so angry. Is that something that I should continue to be wary of?” 

Kylo unpinned his own cloak as he stood behind Hux, letting the damp garment drop on the floor as he reached over Hux’s shoulders to pin the long left sleeve up to keep it out of Hux’s way. 

“There had been bad blood between Colborn and I since we were whelps,” he told Hux, gently picking up the long red hair that had been pressed beneath the hem at Hux’s neck when he’d donned the robe. He drew it out slowly, let it trickle from his fingers and fan over Hux’s shoulders. “That was more about me, than you. It is our way to welcome former slaves as kindred. My own father was one such. My mother took him from the household of Jab’ar, who once ruled in the arid east. She made him a free man, and here I am.” 

Hux’s mouth gaped a bit at this surprising bit of news, but then he hastily swallowed his half-chewed food. “Your father was a slave? Well, former slave? Did you know him?” Hux asked, and took a swig from their half-full tankard before passing it up to Kylo. 

Kylo shrugged one shoulder, even though Hux couldn’t see it. “I have not seen him in years,” he said, combing through the salt-stiff, tangled knots in Hux’s hair with one hand and sipping from the tankard with the other. “He and my mother did not...see things in the same ways. Sometimes I think he would have taken me with him...if she’d have allowed it.” 

Hux was quiet a moment, seeming pensive. Perhaps enjoying Kylo’s touches in his messy hair. “Would you have gone with him, given a choice?” he asked. The hard crust was all that was left of his bread, and he abandoned it on the table top in favor of some of the sliced goat meat. 

As a boy and as a young man both, Kylo had imagined just that; abandoning the village and his mother and her ways and setting off on a pilgrimage to find Han. He’d gotten so far once as packing his bags and setting off into the hills, but he hadn’t made it far before he convinced himself that Han wouldn’t want him. He said none of this to Hux, though, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head instead. 

“Had I done so,” he told Hux, “I would never have met you. I have no regrets.” Having said that, he circled the chair Hux sat in and tore off a hunk of bread for himself, tucking a strip of meat into it. “There will be a feast tonight,” he said. “Everyone will want to hear tales of the west, and there will be a war council. Will you be well-rested enough to attend?” 

Hux watched Kylo, a bit of blush blurring the freckles on his cheeks. He chewed and swallowed down a mouthful of food before he answered. “Probably not,” he confessed, glancing away briefly as his fingers fidgeted with a slice of cheese. “I wouldn’t know what they’re all saying, anyway. May I just stay here and sleep?” he asked, looking at Kylo imploringly. His gaze drifted down to linger on Kylo’s broad chest, and large hands, before turning back to his face. “I’d rather be well-rested enough for a meeting of a more private nature, understand.” 

Kylo felt his cheeks warm slightly; the room itself was heating comfortably now that the fire was roaring in the hearth, and hearing Hux's words made him suddenly want nothing to do with feasts or councils. 

“Perhaps we should both get some rest,” he suggested. 

Hux smiled.

Kylo hadn’t realized just how tired he truly was until he’d stripped to a long tunic and crawled beneath the furs with Hux. The burgeoning need he’d had to touch Hux’s soft, naked skin, to taste him, for them to finally be able to be free with their affections, waned in the warm cocoon of bed. The fire crackled and spat, a natural hum that filled the room and lulled Kylo to sleep with his nose pressed to the back of Hux’s neck, where Hux’s scent was the strongest, even beneath the salt brine and sweat. 

He dreamed of a great, towering tree with branches that reached to the clouds, limbs hung with feathers that twirled slowly in the wind, the string that bound them barely visible, like gossamer. The sky overhead undulated with waves of shimmering green and blue, and the full moon was a spinning wheel. 

Kylo woke slowly from this dream, smelling apple blossoms for the briefest of moments before the scent faded as though it had never been. Hux was still curled in his arms, and as the daze of the dream-world began to slip away, Kylo began to connect again with his own corporeal form; the robe Hux had fallen into bed with was rucked up over his thighs, their bare legs tangled together, skin on skin, and Kylo could feel a thick, demanding need in his own loins. It was such a powerful desire that it made his fingers twitch of their own accord as a vision flickered through his mind of rolling Hux to his belly, spreading those pale thighs and thrusting inside him. His mouth watered at the thought of sinking his teeth into that sweet-smelling spot on Hux’s neck. 

Overcome, Kylo pushed himself away from Hux abruptly, feeling as though something animal inside him was trying to claw its way out, suppressed for too long and aching with need. Careful not to disturb Hux, he pushed the furs aside and sat up, dropping his feet to the wooden floor and running a trembling hand through his hair. He breathed through his nose, and was assaulted again by that  _ smell.  _ It was apple blossoms and fresh sea air and rich, dark earth and it was like a drug that made his heart race and his cock start to fill. 

_ What was wrong with him?  _ Had he so neglected certain needs that they were taking over his good sense? 

Rather than wait to see how his addled state would progress, Kylo left the bed and crossed the room to splash lukewarm water over his face. He hovered there for several moments, hands covering his eyes, before he turned slowly to regard Hux. He was still sleeping soundly, undisturbed by Kylo’s roiling feelings.

Kylo wanted only to keep him safe. He knew that seeing Hux this way, in a bed that they shared, was something that Kylo needed far more than he needed a wife, or children, or to be an arl. If they had to steal away from this place to be together, they would do so. 

First, however, they had to survive whatever conflict was waiting on the horizon, and whatever madness was lurking in Kylo’s spirit. One, Kylo could combat—Hux needed more than a simple weapon and cloth breeches to face armed men, and Kylo would not send his lover out to meet foes in the manner he’d brought the Celt to his homeland. 

The other—this animal instinct to possess in any way possible...Kylo would have to seek the guidance of the gods for that, lest he destroy what he’d just found. 

 

For a moment, Hux felt panic rising in him. He was in the dark, crushing depths of the ocean, but the water was warm instead of frigid. That, at least, was comforting, and he drifted upwards towards the surface, seeing the massive, dark and indistinct shapes of strange gods hovering at the edges of his vision.

Hux blearily opened his eye, squinting at the shaft of warm morning sunlight that streamed through the one narrow window. How long had he been sleeping? He reached back to feel for Kylo, but he wasn’t there.

“Kylo…?” Hux tentatively called out, sitting bolt upright to peer around the room. 

Everything was still, and the sounds of birds and indistinguishable voices filtered in from outside. He felt a small amount of apprehension, hoping no one was planning to sneak in and slit his throat while Kylo wasn’t around to watch over him. Hux slid out of bed, the robe falling back down to cover his legs, and he tied the belt of his sword around his waist. Just as a precaution. 

He supposed he could go looking for Kylo, but Hux didn’t know this town and he knew he stood out as strange amongst these people. Instead, he sat down at the table facing the door to the room. He picked at the food left there from yesterday, feeling well-rested and much more like himself. He wondered if his father had hated the ocean because it had also turned his stomach. Were the storms also Hux’s doing? Hux did have some strange powers he couldn’t explain, after all. Was there something to what Colborn had claimed...was he some sort of witch?

Instead of sulking about this possible revelation, Hux chose to let it swell his heart with pride. He had had a difficult time being out on the water, yes, but otherwise…? Being a “witch” made him stronger. It meant he was unique and had a gift that others did not. He hoped that Kylo’s people could come to respect this about him, instead of fear it. Hux would have to try and flex his powers in the upcoming battlefield, if he could. He wanted to be useful, and show Kylo’s people he was fully on their side. He realized then that he was, too; in as little time as it had taken to cross the sea from Eire, Hux was now more beholden to Kylo than he ever had been his own people.

Pleased with this idea for the upcoming battle, Hux hummed as he sucked some honey from a sticky bun off his fingers. He couldn’t be sure how long he waited, though it seemed an interminable time, not knowing where Kylo was nor having the expectation that were Hux to venture out into the common rooms of the house that anyone would understand his questions. He found himself listening intently to every sound that filtered in through the slatted wooden door, until he finally heard Kylo’s familiar voice. 

His erstwhile captor seemed to hover outside for a moment, the shadows of his feet two dark smudges beneath the door. Then slowly, the door creaked open, and Kylo wedged himself through the crack as though trying to make the least amount of noise possible. Hux realized that Kylo must think him still abed, and almost called out to him before Kylo suddenly glanced up and met his eyes. 

“Oh,” Kylo said, posture relaxing and a smile stealing across his face. “You’re awake.” He came fully inside now, toeing the door shut behind him, and Hux could see that Kylo’s arms were full with what appeared to clothing. He could make out a scabbard between folded layers, all of which were various textures. 

Hux got to his feet, curious. “Yes. Where have you been? What’s all that?” he questioned, peering at all the stuff in Kylo’s arms. Hux’s fingers and ears were no longer see-through, and were tinted a lovely, healthy pink. He felt at some of the cloth with one hand, fond of exploring the textures of well-crafted clothing--luxury he’d never really been able to partake in, before.

Kylo’s smile broadened, as though glad his burden had caught Hux’s eye. “It’s for you,” Kylo told him, crossing the room to the bed. There, he set the pile of clothing down atop the furs and sorted it into three smaller stacks. As he did so, Hux was able to see that Kylo had brought him plainclothes and armor both; he could make out a banded leather chestpiece, steel rivets glinting in the firelight, a vest padded with rabbit fur, a thick bracer that looked as though it would stop a blade. 

Kylo laid it all out and gave Hux a hopeful look. “It might not all fit, but we can take measurements later, and have something made that is better-suited.”

“Oh, Kylo,” Hux breathed, running his fingertips over the chestpiece, then the fur-lined vest. He hurriedly reached down to untie his sword belt so he could get the green robe off. “Can I try these on? Well-fit or no, I am glad to have them. Thank you,” he turned to give Kylo a lingering kiss, grateful for the thoughtful and useful gift.

Kylo’s hand came to rest on Hux’s narrow hip in the midst of the kiss, and then his long fingers dipped beneath the sword belt to help loosen it; Hux just caught it before it and the sword both clattered the floor. Kylo took it from him blindly, their lips still joined, and Hux heard it hit the bed. Then Kylo’s fingers were on his shoulders, thumbs hooking beneath the lapels of the robe and pushing it slowly back.

Hux shuddered and emitted a small whine against Kylo’s lips. It was easy to forget the excitement about the armor, with Kylo’s large hands gently sliding the rich robe off his shoulders. His thoughts rushed back to the warm memory of when they’d first gotten to enjoy each other’s lust that day before they’d left on the boat. It had been rushed, and clothes left in place. Now...even with the battle looming, it seemed that they had a little more time to explore each other. 

Not knowing what the outcome of that battle would even be, Hux was suddenly determined to make the most of this time with Kylo. The affection, the  _ need _ that Kylo was broadcasting was almost overwhelming. Hux grounded himself by gripping the front of Kylo’s tunic and he parted his lips, darting his pink tongue out against Kylo’s with invitation for more. 

Kylo made a sound part way between groan and an animal growl, and he tugged Hux close to him with both arms around his torso. Hux felt one hand splay over his back while Kylo dragged the other palm down to cup one buttock. It felt as though Kylo would pull Hux into himself, merge them as one, and his tongue slid into Hux’s mouth with a seeking sort of passion. 

Hux echoed Kylo’s growl and played his tongue against his. The kisses were messy but well passionate, but Hux nipped at Kylo’s lip and wriggled against him a bit with frustration. 

“Kylo,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. “Get yourself out of these damned clothes, I want to see you,” Hux told him. It’d also give him a moment to breath, his head feeling dizzy. Once Kylo had released his strong grip from around him, Hux shrugged his robe the rest of the way off and let it pile onto the floor. It had been the only thing he’d worn to bed.

Kylo’s eyes were dazed, pupils fat, and his lips parted and wet from their just-broken kiss. It seemed to take Kylo’s mind a moment to catch up with Hux’s command, but when it did, Kylo tugged his tunic off in one fluid motion and began unlacing his trousers at the same moment as he struggled to kick off his boots. He finally pushed his pants off his hips and stepped out of them, naked as the day he’d waded into the river with Hux. There was something almost shy about his manner now, though—a far cry from that cocky marauder of weeks past. Perhaps it was the inarguable evidence of his arousal that had not been present then but was most assuredly present now; Kylo’s cock was more than half-hard, the tip just peeking out of the dusky foreskin where the length of it lay heavy between his legs.

“And now that you see me,” Kylo said. “What will you do with me?” That boyish grin played on his lips again like a dare.

Hux studied Kylo a long moment, his normally icy gaze now a warm, dark green. Although his eye lingered on Kylo’s heavy erection, it was the constellation of dark moles across Kylo’s broad chest that Hux’s fingertips found first. 

Kylo’s body language wasn’t lost to Hux; he could see that Kylo wanted to project confidence but that there was also a shyness to him. Was he new to this sort of activity? Hux wondered. It had been a long while since Hux himself had touched another man, and he’d been nowhere near as attractive as Kylo. Hux remembered feeling a bit feverish, then, desperate even if his chosen partner at the time wouldn’t have normally been anyone that set his loins alight.

“I think I would lie with you, if you would have me,” Hux responded, running his tongue across his own lips. He traced the pattern of Kylo’s spots, his thumb pressing across one of Kylo’s nipples before Hux’s touch wandered down his front. Kylo was well-cut, his abs defined from much marching and raiding battles. Hux braced his hand against Kylo’s front, pushing him back towards the bed. Of course, he didn’t have nearly enough strength to force the man, but rather intended to guide him.

Kylo went easily enough, sinking down onto the bed when the backs of his thighs brushed against it. As he did, he closed his huge hands over Hux’s hips and drew him close, eyes riveted to the lines of Hux’s body. 

“You’re beautiful,” Kylo said quietly, his voice raspy. He traced the calloused pads of both thumbs over Hux’s hip bones, along the creases between Hux’s thighs and the thatch of red hair between his legs. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Hux’s belly, just below the navel. “You smell good,” he added, almost too low for Hux to overhear. 

Before Hux could respond to that, Kylo was pulling him forward again, coaxing him onto the bed until Hux was straddling his lap and Kylo’s mouth was on his neck. Hux shivered as he felt Kylo’s teeth graze the skin, press down and release. 

That teasing bite was full of promises, filling Hux with even more anticipation. He rolled his hips down against Kylo, eager to feel Kylo’s cock slide against his skin, but also eager to become as hard as him. Bracing his left shoulder against Kylo’s chest, Hux snaked his hand down between them to wrap it around both their cocks, squeezing them together as his hips moved. 

“Mmmmnh,” Hux purred, the sensation sending sparks up his spine. “You’re beautiful, too, Kylo. So powerful, so big...the fates brought you to me, don’t you think?” Hux teased, not really believing in it himself. But, it was a romantic notion. “You’re perfect.”

Kylo ducked his head, mouthing at Hux’s collarbone, and from his angle Hux could see the tips of Kylo’s ears go pink at the compliment. It was hard to imagine how the man was not used to such praise, but it was a line of thought that was scattered when he felt Kylo’s fingers tracing the cleft of his ass. The touch seemed unsure, and Hux again wondered if Kylo had ever done this with another man. 

“Kylo,” Hux admonished, then realized his tone accidentally sounded too harsh. “Kylo…” he tried again, softening his voice. “I want your touch,” Hux told him, feeling like it’d be best if he were more direct with Kylo. He took his hand off their dicks so he could reach back and grab for Kylo’s hand. Hux brought it up to his mouth, tonguing at two of Kylo’s fingers and then slipping them into his mouth, sucking. 

The action made his own cock jump and he hummed around the fingers, but didn’t linger like that long before  he was replacing Kylo’s hand at his ass. “Touch me. Rub at that hidden opening there, put a finger in...you won’t hurt me,” Hux reassured. He braced his own hand against the bed beside Kylo’s ribs to prop himself up, and gave Kylo little kisses, not wanting to distract him too much in this moment, but wanting to be able to look at his face and judge how he was feeling about what they were doing together. 

Kylo’s cheeks were flushed as he glanced briefly at Hux’s face, but then the almost bashful look was replaced by a vision of that more primal creature that Hux had first encountered back in Eire. Instead of a fumbling touch, Kylo surged up from the bed, hands closing around Hux’s waist to flip him over onto his back as though he’d practiced that move hundreds of times before. Hux was left gasping with surprise, disoriented but pleasantly so, and groaned low in his throat when Kylo spread Hux’s thighs with both hands, pressing his knees back and opening him. 

Kylo was on his knees between Hux’s legs, no longer hesitant in his touch. He pressed his thumb to the spot just beneath Hux’s balls, making him twitch, and then slid one long finger down the cleft of Hux’s ass to his entrance. 

Hux had expected those calloused hands to feel rough between his cheeks, the press of a finger to almost burn, but the touch was smooth, wet. He felt Kylo slide his middle finger inside him to the second knuckle, slowly but without pause, and Hux flinched instinctively; that should have hurt, should have been too much, but instead it was far from enough. 

Drawing that finger out again, Kylo looked up at Hux, cheeks splotchy with arousal and hair falling over his eyes. “You’re…” he began, then tongued at his lips. “Did you prepare for this?” His brows knitted as he asked, pushing back into Hux as though to emphasize the slickness between Hux’s legs.  

Hux exhaled a shuddering breath, needing a moment to register in his mind what Kylo had actually said. “What...no,” he responded and darted his tongue out to wet his lips. He honestly didn’t know what Kylo meant. “Just...keep doing that, won’t you? Don’t stop. You’re so good,” Hux breathed, stroking Kylo’s hair away from his face. 

Kylo hummed in response to that praise, working his finger out and back in slowly, watching Hux’s reactions with big eyes. Through the slit of half-closed eye, Hux saw Kylo reach between his own legs and stroke his erection absently. 

“Is this…” Kylo began, and then he crooked his finger inside Hux as though to show Hux what he meant by  _ this _ . He touched something inside Hux when he did so that set off sparks through his abdomen and down his inner thighs; Hux gasped and flinched back toward the head of the bed. Kylo pulled that hand away abruptly, while the other caught Hux’s knee.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“Far from it,” Hux breathed, his wild, piercing gaze trained on Kylo. The way Kylo had stroked his own cock had Hux feeling even more hungry for it. “Sorry for jumping, I just...gods, no one’s touched me there in a while. Kylo...fuck, do it again? Hold me down if you have to, just...please, do that again,” Hux practically begged. It didn’t sound weak to his own ears, to beg in this manner. He was not above asking for what he wanted. 

Kylo looked unsure, but he acquiesced, the tips of two fingers now pressing against Hux’s entrance before sliding in. The stretch was delicious, and Hux writhed, pushing down onto Kylo’s hand, wanting to take as much as he was offered. He felt Kylo searching for that bundle of nerves again, and Hux shifted his hips to help him find it. 

“What does it feel like?” Kylo asked softly, large eyes shifting between Hux’s face and what he was doing between Hux’s legs. 

Hux’s toes curled and he moaned as Kylo’s fingertips pressed against his sweet spot again. He resisted jumping back, but his dick twitched, already dripping a bead of pre-come.  

“It feels like...nnh. You’ve never touched yourself there, Kylo?” Hux asked, his voice low but not teasing. “It feels like a lightning-strike, white-hot and jolting up my spine, and echoing loud in my ears. Feels like I could come just on your fingers alone,” Hux panted. “So much nicer than when I do it myself.”

Hux shifted a little to extend one leg just enough to press his foot against Kylo’s cock, pinning it against his abs with a gentle pressure. “Want you to fuck me. Kylo, I want you…” Hux whined and rolled his hips, still trying to get more of that delicious pressure from Kylo’s big fingers.

“Yes,” Kylo hissed, arching into the pressure against his cock. “Yes, I want that.” He circled Hux’s cock with the fingers of his free hand, stroking him, and then he withdrew his fingers again, almost too suddenly in his eagerness. Before Hux had a moment to protest, Kylo had covered him with his body, capturing Hux’s lips in a bruising kiss as he rolled his hips, bringing their cocks together. 

Hux groaned into the kiss, gasping for a breath when he could, and nipped at Kylo’s lower lip in retaliation. While the friction between them felt nice, Hux was quite eager to get well and thoroughly fucked. Honestly, he’d wanted this since that day out in the river. It just hadn’t been the right time.

Reaching down between their bodies with his one hand, Hux took hold of Kylo’s erection and tried to guide him in. He caught most of Kylo’s kisses as he did so, their animalistic nature quite distracting, but in the best way. “Fuck, Kylo...you great, sodding beast,” Hux growled, trying to push Kylo’s hips back enough with one knee so he could get that cockhead against his slicked and ready entrance. “Come on, take me…”

Kylo shifted, trying to find the angle that would guide him inside, and Hux just felt the tip of Kylo’s cock press against his entrance when the deep, resonating boom of a horn blasted across the longhouse. Immediately, voices rose outside and within the building, and Hux heard the doors crash as they were flung open. 

Kylo flinched and lost his balance, causing Hux to yelp as the bigger man’s weight rested down hard on Hux’s inner thigh. Kylo uttered something in his own language that sounded like a curse before he rolled away and sat up. His hair and eyes both were wild as he lurched off the bed, and with his cock still hard between his legs, he looked for all the world like a god of fertility and war alike. Hux stared after him, disbelief and frustrated fear in his own fiery gaze.

“We are under attack,” Kylo growled, reaching down to snatch his trousers for the floor. He met Hux’s eye, grinned. “Get dressed. We’ll finish this later when we’re covered in the blood of our enemies.” 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Characterizations:  
> Kylo by Kyluxtrashcompactor  
> Hux by Pandalolli
> 
> Writing: by Kyluxtrashcompactor  
> Art: by Pandalolli (also known as Hydrajen)  
> (and in the later chapters KTC and Pandalolli BOTH writing, with edits by KTC :)
> 
> Come find us on Tumblr! [Kyluxtrashcompactor](http://kyluxtrashcompactor.tumblr.com/) ~and~ [Pandalolli](https://pandalolli.tumblr.com/)


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